


Audacity

by MarieTurtle



Category: Ancient Roman Religion & Lore, Barbarians Rising (TV)
Genre: Ancient History, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Forbidden Love, German History, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Rebellion, Rome - Freeform, Warrior Women, barbarians - Freeform, fictional re-telling, teutoburg wald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-09-18 18:54:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20317837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieTurtle/pseuds/MarieTurtle
Summary: In 7CE, a barbarian princess fears nothing will prevent the Roman Empire from swallowing her Germanian people whole. Thusnelda’s frustration mounts when her former betrothed returns at the head of a Roman legion. Then he makes a daring proclamation. Arminius promises more than a rebellion: a new future for all of Magna Germania. Their burgeoning relationship could doom the rebellion before it starts, threatening shaky tribal alliances and inspiring dangerous enemies from within. Thusnelda knows the biggest risks often reap the biggest rewards.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Audacious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12557560) by [MarieTurtle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarieTurtle/pseuds/MarieTurtle). 

> I'm back, y'all. You may notice this bears a nearly identical title and premise as my previously posted "Audacious." That's probably because this is a re-working of that short story into what I hope will eventually shape into a trilogy.
> 
> Few historical figures have intrigued me quite like Thusnelda. She is largely silent in the historical record, only mentioned a few times in Tacitus' The Annals, and always as an object of the men around her. Those few brief mentions, however, paint a fascinating picture. Her father, Segestes, rails that she was stolen and raped by the villain Arminius, yet he later admits that she has far more of her husband in her than himself. She refused to abandon Arminius and it's said that Arminius loved her so deeply that, well, I can't get this far into spoiler territory, though I will say I plan a much, much happier ending than what actually happened.
> 
> I've been researching until my eyes bled, but there is little known about pre-Roman invasion Germans. What is known is cobbled together through archaeology and educated guessing based on what we do know about other European tribes. Even less is known about the roles of women in the communities, as well as a generalized silencing of ancient female warriors in spite of consistent archaeological evidence that yes, they existed and in large numbers. I've done my best here to blend fact with conjecture and fiction.
> 
> This story will feature graphic violence, semi-graphic sex, and yes, Thusnelda is jumping through mental hoops to justify why it's okay for her people to take and keep slaves, but not the Romans. It will be addressed later.  
As always, I live and breathe for feedback.

_ Magna Germania, Cherusci tribal lands, 7 CE _

“Inhale. Exhale. Now.”

Konrada’s heavy arrow sailed to its target, piercing the stag in his neck. He bellowed and stumbled, then took an unsteady path into the dense woods. Konrada and I stood and stretched, our bodies weary from hours spent stalking and crouched in wait among the tall grasses. Mud soaked my soft leggings, reinforcing the chill of our moist air. A thick layer of clouds covered the sky. Gloom reigned more often than not in our part of the world. Gray skies met a horizon black with trees, imposing and forbidding. Tomorrow marked the equinox when, for a few months, the skies would clear, the air would warm, and crops would sprout with abundance from the earth.

“Excellent shot. Didn’t that feel better?” I asked.

Her youthful face, no more than fifteen summers, split into a wide grin. “It felt perfect. Thank you, Thusnelda.”

My belly warmed with pride, but I dared not show her my own giddy enthusiasm. It would never do to giggle and chitter like a girl. “It’s nothing. I have a duty to ensure all Cherusci can feed themselves.”

I set off at a brisk pace, following the deer’s obvious trail through the grass and low ferns, and Konrada followed. Normally, my dogs would chase the animal, but I left them behind on this day to ensure Konrada got no undue aid in the task of hunting. She had to learn these skills without my supremely helpful companions.

We were women of the Cherusci tribe in a land the Roman invaders called Germania. Before they came, our people didn’t have a name for the region, it simply was. Before they came, we lived as one with the land. We hunted and farmed what we needed to survive and no more. Our homes blended into the landscape as if the gods put them there. As we bent our existence to the river, the hill, the tree, the Romans forced their way, crushing the world to their will.

They could not crush me. I couldn’t allow this. As daughter of the Cherusci chief, I was born a princess and betrothed to the next chief of the Chatti, a neighboring tribe. I was to be a queen; a duty, not a gift. 

A few more long days in the sun and the brown streaks in my hair would give way to a golden blonde through and through, as the ice gives way to new life. I stood at least a head taller than Konrada, though the nearly eleven-year gap in our ages meant she could still grow. I didn’t achieve this height until my eighteenth summer, when I was nothing but rangy, skinny limbs, eyes the color of wet soil, and a viper’s tongue, or so I was told.

My long fingers brushed the tall, verdant grasses. Spring came early this year, both a blessing and a curse. The planting would be good, but that merely meant there would be more for the Romans to take in tax. They would be relentless with the laborers, coerced into working to pay their taxes or enslaved for myriad reasons - expanding their endless flat road, reinforcing their defensive ramparts, milling lumber, anything and everything to feed the Roman beast. 

They would work our people and our land until all that remained was Rome. For now, we could still celebrate the equinox in our way and the stag would make an excellent addition to tomorrow’s repast. 

“I heard,” Konrada said, bouncing along beside me on youthful feet, “no Roman woman can wield a weapon. They’re not even permitted.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. She was right, but she had yet to slit the throat of her first kill. She had yet to bloody her sword in the chaotic haze of battle. I remembered my own childish pride, that insurmountable belief in my own prowess, my immortality. I could not fault her derision in Rome’s limits, even as I kept her close lest some Roman dog see her for what she was - young, beautiful, with soft features and rich dark hair - and take her away, as they did to so many others.

“You should thank the gods Rome sees fit to treat them thus. We would have been conquered ages ago if their ranks swelled with women.”

Her face knotted in confusion. “You don’t believe they are simply incapable? Their men are so small. They hide behind shield walls because they would stand no chance against our people otherwise. Their people are weak.”

My boots sank into the rain and mist-soaked earth as I picked my way through the brush and understory. Our path was easy enough to follow since the deer had barrelled his thick body through the mess in a desperate bid for safety. My skin prickled with an awareness, an empathy for this creature. A hazy vision of our future lay ahead; bleeding, bleating, utterly helpless against a superior animal.

“Do not underestimate them. After so many years of repression, it is reasonable to believe their women are quite useless. But they still took us as if we were nothing more than a stone in their ridiculous sandals.”

“Ah!” She caught up to me as our path opened into a small clearing. “But a little wound from a little stone can fester…”

Konrada trailed off. Between the thick, ancient trees the stag lay before us on a bed of grass, dead leaves, and wet earth. His dark eyes rolled to their whites in his panic. His breathing was labored and frantic and his bellowing reduced to a strangled, unsettling keening. He would feed many mouths, his body would provide fresh boots, a new cloak, maybe more. His bones would make tools, melted in a molten cauldron with the iron to make weapons nigh unbreakable. His crown of antlers would go to our priestesses for their ceremonial garb. 

My heart clenched for this animal. He knew he was dying, he must have been in intense pain, yet he was powerless to stop it. Like all the tribes spread across our rolling, forested lands, the Cherusci prized individual power above all else. A powerless man is a man bound to slavery; a slave to fear, a slave to stronger men, a slave to hunger and cold. The Romans called us barbarians for our refusal to submit, but submission is to surrender one’s power, and powerlessness is death. The stag had no choice but to submit now as his life drained away.

“End it.” I held out my dagger hilt first to Konrada’s hand. “Quickly. Thank him for his gifts and use a gentle voice. Give him a measure of comfort as he dies.”

Color drained from her face, taking with it the pretty flush of excitement.

“Thusnelda, I-”

“Do it now. Respect his sacrifice by showing him this kindness.”

She eased to his side, speaking nonsense in soothing tones as I instructed. I followed behind her. The blade trembled in her hand and she struggled to find the correct place to drive it into his flesh, despite the hours we’d spent going over it at length the previous evening on a sow’s carcass.

It’s always different when it’s your first kill.

Before she struck him in the wrong place, I eased my hand over hers and guided the knife. He struggled at first, but in seconds his body stilled. In minutes, the light left his eyes.

It took Konrada a moment to realize he’d passed. When she saw the rush of fresh blood cooling around her boots, she scrambled backward, taking on the same look of animal panic as the stag. The coppery scent of gore washed over us, drowning out the comforting smells of moist soil and pine. 

I remained in place. The blood would join the legions of stains marking my boots and the tang was familiar.

“Fetch sturdy branches for the litter.” Konrada didn’t move, so I raised my voice. “Get up. The sun is setting and if we stay after dark, we could wind up in a bog and all three of us will have died for nothing.”

This was to say nothing of the roving patrols of Romans, seeking any reason to throw us into bondage. I would die before allowing those people to slap an iron collar on my neck and call me slave. Before my father cut his deal with them, it was not uncommon for other Germanians to attack our many villages and take slaves by the lot. Segestes insisted we were safer this way, but I failed to see an improvement in our circumstances. When Germanians took slaves, we treated them with dignity. They could save fruits of their own labor and buy their freedom, or earn it through bravery. Our customs demanded we honor their labor with liberty. In my life, I’d yet to see a single slave taken by the Romans freed. Once abducted, a Cherusci was gone forever. 

I removed the heavy leather sheet from its place rolled up and secured to my belt. Before dropping it next to the deer where his blood soaked the ground, I hesitated. My father’s harsh voice demanded I force Konrada to confront the blood, to soak her hands and clothing in it until it no longer disturbed her, but I couldn’t shake the desire to ease her discomfort.  _ She’s only just started her her moon time _ . I placed the sheet on the other side.

Not everyone is well suited to hunting and fighting. Blooding was the ultimate test to weed out those who lacked the disposition. If that was Konrada, forcing her to mire in it would be cruel. If it wasn’t, she would show me. 

The darkness of the woods gave the impression the sun sat lower than it actually did, but I still itched to be on our way as soon as possible.

Sounds of a blade hacking at wood drifted nearby. “Are you almost finished?” I called.

A grunt and wood snapping answered me. “Yes, Thusnelda!”

Wherever she was was farther than I first thought. Our heavy forests did strange things to sound. A creature as small as a bird could sound like a wolf in the bushes, but a wolf could

remain absolutely silent until it already stood on top of you. A person’s voice could get lost among the trees or carry for a league.

The hair on my arms stood up, that animal instinct telling your human mind to flee before it knows it’s in danger. We were being watched.

I sucked in a breath to call her again, but stopped. We’d already loudly announced our presence and general location. At least I brought my sword.

With eyes closed, I tuned my ears, listening for anything discordant. The air stilled and the birds fell silent. As quietly as possible, I unsheathed my single-bladed sword and turned a slow circle to take in my surroundings. Beyond this little clearing, visibility dropped to nothing. Trees obscured everything and even kept the meager sunlight from penetrating to the forest floor. It was all darkness.

Movement in my periphery caught my eye, so I turned to face it, willing my eyes to see through the mottled blackness.  _ Show yourself _ , I thought, screaming through my mind whatI dared not say aloud. 

As if I had shouted the command, Konrada materialized at the edge of the trees dragging behind her two decently solid saplings, stripped of their branches. Her eyes widened to saucers when she saw me at the ready with my sword. I resheathed the weapon with groan that came out as more of a growl.

“I could have killed you. How did you even make it that far without making a noise?”

Konrada dropped the saplings next to the sheet. “You told me to practice moving in silence. I thought this would make for excellent practice.”

I swallowed a laugh and nodded. I had told her that, hadn’t I? “Well done.”

We tied the saplings onto the sheet and, with great heaving, rolled the stag’s carcass onto the litter. Konrada didn’t flinch as we did this, she even took hold of the animal’s front end without hesitation at the two wounds there. She would make a fine warrior for the Cherusci.

Our path back to the village took us over a network of dirt trails and long stretches of wooden roads over the bogs. The Romans mocked our simple plank construction, but had yet to furnish a better way to cross our terrain. It would take them a lifetime to cut through enough of the wald to build roads to their fashion - straight and wide enough for their marching formations, wagons, and the clutter they seemed to carry with them wherever they went. The narrowness and winding, blind corners made them jumpy. Cowards.

Until we set foot in the village, I never lost the sensation of being watched.

* * *

The following day was spent scurrying about our longhouse and the village in preparation for the festival of  _ Ôstara _ , when we would welcome the goddess of dawn and cast aside another gloomy, cold winter. In generations past, Cherusci would volunteer themselves for the honor of being sacrificed. Their gifts would please  _ Ôstara _ , who, in her pleasure, would grant us plentiful crops, healthy children, and strength in battle.

Tonight, our priestesses would sacrifice the largest bull in the tribe and others could offer their personal sacrifices in the way of small animals, wheat, and personal property. I spent the winter shaping and honing a beautiful spear for just this purpose. The oak shaft gleamed as though it emenated its own light and the meticulous patterns carved into the spearhead marked it as a work of devotion. 

Clans from Cherusci villages spread across our lands traveled the miles and miles it took to reach us and celebrate as one tribe. As the princess of the Cherusci and highest ranking woman, my duties were myriad. The day flew by in a frenzy of activity, with food to prepare, lodging to secure for our guests who required it, and seeing to the needs of the unending train of visitors. At least the priestesses would handle the stag Konrada and I brought them the previous evening.

The sun sat low on the horizon before I could steal away long enough to dress myself. Though the evening would be frigid, in honor of the equinox we would all wear the sleeveless tunics and gowns that only further marked us a species wholly apart from Romans. They found our bare arms and trousers trademarks of our barbarism, things to be corrected in their superior image.

My family occupied the largest house in the village, where the central clan of the Cherusci lived. Other clans had their own smaller villages dotted throughout our territory wherever the earth was good for planting and animals. Most of them lived in roundhouses with wattle walls and thatched roofs. A longhouse was different and reserved for chiefs and clan leaders. Our longhouse featured straight walls that stretched nearly sixty feet, room enough for a large dining hall offset by stalls to keep the animals warm during our long winters - though this quickly turned to unbearable stench - private bedrooms, kitchen, thralls quarters, and a cavernous attic for storing hay, grains, and sundry dry goods. I enjoyed the familiar smells that said  _ home _ . Hay in the loft, delicious baking bread and simmering meats wafting in from the kitchens, coals in the central brazier.

With its cozy stuffed mattress and fragrant rushes beneath the rugs on the floor, I always revelled in the restfulness of my room. Even in winter, the scent of cow shit and pigs could not penetrate the gentle lavender and rosemary and fresh herbs by the windows.  I slipped my mother’s golden arm bands over my biceps and let my fingers linger, tracing the intricate whorls and patterns. Only when I married would I have my own. The thought made me shudder, so I pushed it away and called for a  _ scalc _ to fix my hair. Next to Konrada, my personal slave was the closest thing I had to a friend. A sorry state, indeed.

Jotapa entered quiet as a mouse and set to concocting a riot of golden braids and curls atop my head. I wore nothing but gold and white, my own salute to the spring dawn. 

“Will Reimar be at the festival?” Jotapa asked so brightly I could feel her smiling behind me. 

Her fingers stilled when she felt my body stiffen. I forced a low chuckle and said, “No, he will celebrate with his own people. I don’t believe I will see him again until the wedding.”

She continued merrily fixing my hair, sliding in pins and jewels this way and that. I seldom troubled myself with mirrored bronze, instead trusting in Jotapa’s deft hands and innate sense of style. Truly, for a young woman confined to a simple undyed woolen tunic and short trousers, she carried a particular beauty about her. Though it could be a plague with Cherusci men, Jotapa wore her black hair in neat yet elaborate braids. Her tunics were always clean and belted just so. Most importantly, she carried herself with that nameless, effortless  _ something _ . I carried myself like a warrior, even in a fine white gown and gold jewels. Some found this appealing, but without ever needing to ask, I understood I lacked that special spark, which burned so brightly in Jotapa as to never burn out.

Jotapa would thrill over a match as with Reimar, son of the Chatti tribal chief, thus heir to the chieftainship. Such a marriage meant becoming queen of the Chatti, even for a  _ scalc _ . I knew Jotapa sold her services throughout our village as a hairdresser and was steadily amassing wealth worthy to buy her own freedom. We were of an age and had she not come to us a  _ scalc _ , she would already be wed after all the men in the tribe fought each other for the honor. She could marry Reimar in my stead and I doubted I would feel anything about it. Yes, it would mean surrendering my title as a future queen, but I had no reason to want it when I yet remained the chief woman of the Cherusci. Until my eldest brother, Wout, married and took my father’s seat, I would remain the de facto queen here. A queen without a husband. It delighted me. Even after Wout took his rightful place, I would be something of a dowager chieftess. My voice and leadership would still be crucial to our tribe.

I knew nothing of Reimar, save one or two brief meetings. I knew he was closer to my father’s age than my own. I knew he was a large man, even for us, and firy headed. We’d hardly exchanged more than a brief greeting, yet I was to marry him at the close of summer. The thought chilled me to the bone.

“May I ask,” Jotapa’s nimble fingers worked their magic through my unruly hair, “do you find Reimar distasteful, or do you wish to remain unmarried altogether?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? It wasn’t as though I’d never seen a man I found attractive. I had my share of infatuations, even as a young girl with the first boy I’d been betrothed to. He had been nearing his fifteenth summer, my ninth, when I first noticed him not as yet another disgusting male, but a handsome young man. Strong in the jaw, brilliant blue eyes to put the sky to shame, and a warrior put through the initiation into his  _ Männerbund _ at just twelve. The earliest most boys endured their initiation was thirteen or fourteen. As a woman, I didn’t know what the initiation consisted of, nor did I understand the purpose of the  _ Männerbund _ , the brotherhoods of warriors parceled out by age groups, exclusive to men. I, and many Cherusci women, had fought in more battles than my younger twin brothers. I could yet best them each in training, despite their ungainly height and strength. 

Like all women, my initiation came with blood, my own strength, and no fanfare. The was no  _ Wîblîhbund _ for us. 

As I would never be properly initiated into our warrior class, I also had no hope of ever choosing my own husband. Since my first prospective husband was taken as a hostage to Rome, I found little purpose in setting my heart on any Cherusci man. My father harbored grand designs on making a profitable match for me, my feelings and welfare be damned. If he could marry me off to a high ranking Roman officer, a citizen and noble, he would. I would end my own life first.

“I give it little thought.” My tongue was dry as wool in my mouth. “I have no choice in the matter.”

Jotapa hummed. Did she understand my meaning, or was she passively agreeing with my assessment? I didn’t realize she’d walked away until she slid my mother’s golden torque around my neck.

“There,” she smoothed her hands across my bare shoulders and knelt at my feet, granting me her shining eyes and brilliant smile, “you are a vision, Princess. If I may say, there is no woman in the tribe better suited to cutting off the cock of any man who dared not appreciate her as such, then making her own fate.”

I sputtered, then together we dissolved into giggles. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to accompany me tonight?”

“No,” Jotapa rose and I followed. “You know how the men are with  _ scalcs _ at these things.”

“I would make sacrifices of them all and take us back to the old ways.” I smiled at the thought. 

Jotapa handed me a simple white shawl. It would hardly keep out the chilly air, but spring time clothes were just one of many ways we honored  _ Ôstara _ . It would be an insult to her glory to treat her arrival as though she were winter.

“I know you would, that’s why I must decline.” She grinned and made a few more adjustments to my hair and gown. “I will make my own sacrifices in my quarters.”

A sensible reason and a sensible alternative to violence. Damn it. When she purchased her freedom from my father, Segestes, I would see to it that we went everywhere together. For this evening, I set off on my own, spear in hand, for the sacred woods over the priestesses’ chosen bog. I didn’t quite understand what they found so sacred in a bog, except death. Nothing that went into one ever came out. Perhaps if we could sacrifice enough, the Romans would find their way into our bogs and sink into oblivion.

Drums pounded. Their steady  _ whump whump whump _ echoed a tattoo on my bones. My heart followed the beat and I could almost feel myself slipping into the oblivious ecstasy of our ceremonies. The horns joined the rhythm, deep and bellowing. Not as music, but as a primal energy reaching out to the gods themselves. I did not make note of my path, stepping over branches and bushes by memory alone in the darkness, a slave to the call of the Cherusci. 

Firelight appeared in the darkness and voices from thousands of villagers began to overtake the horns and drums. I passed outliers, men and women already drunk beyond reason, laughing and tripping their way around the celebration. Coupling in the near darkness. I continued on until I had to push my way through the crowds to the central fires, past torches, past smaller sacrificial gatherings. My place was at the heart, where Segestes promised to offer our finest bull and much more. His purpose, unlike mine, was to call for blessings from our conquerors, that they may grace us with their civilized gifts. 

My spear would go to  _ Ôstara _ with a different purpose, that I may shed Roman blood in her name.

I found my father and trio of brothers. Segestes’s dark hair bore more gray than black, though he and I shared the same dark eyes. It was the only thing we shared.

On seeing me, his face lit with happiness.  _ He must be well into the ale _ , I thought. He wore his wolf pelt headdress, the mark of his station. Other clan chiefs wore the same, though his was particularly elaborate. All four limbs and tail remained from the particularly large snowy white wolf who fell under my father’s spear. A necklace of bones - fingers taken from men Segestes slayed in battle - graced his neck beneath his own elaborate torque.

“My daughter!” He raised his alehorn and Wout grabbed me about the waist and spun me in a circle. They were all swimming deep in ale.

The priestesses in their rangy antler headdresses sang out incantations with each proffered sacrifice. Words repeated in passion, on important nights such as this, granted the speaker a special magic. Only our priestesses could speak certain spells and prayers, but the sacrificial rites were not among them. We liked to have them present as we believed their deep connections to the gods and fates and earth itself endowed their words with a magic that eluded the common folk, mingling in the air with their incense and oils into a mystical otherness our daily lives lacked.

At Segestes’s whistle, the crowds parted and a  _ scalc _ ushered a massive bull forward. His horns stretched longer than my own height. Truly, it was a magnificent animal that would die tonight and no part of it would be put to use. Behind it was a cart stocked to overflowing with rich grains that would have seen us through another winter, wool, and an armory of new, finely honed weapons.

The crowds fell silent. Only the drums and horns kept up their call until as one, the five priestesses raised their arms. 

They circled the bull in choreographed movements, practiced throughout their lives and passed down through generations. The bull stamped a hoof and air burst from his nostrils in great forced  _ poofs _ . Each held a long, curved blade. Without cue, they began their chanting again. On and on their words circled each other until they blended in my ears as nothing but noise and ululations. At once, they stopped.

Segestes stepped forward and faced the bulk of the crowd. “Honored guests, friends, family,” he tipped his alehorn at us, “I dedicate this sacrifice for all of us.”

A cheer rose up.

“May we all see bountiful harvests, fattened animals, healthy babes-” uproarious shouting and laughter answered that “-and the continued strengthening of our friendship with Rome.”

No cheers or clapping followed this. Segestes cleared his throat and continued. “My sacrifice also honors my daughter’s betrothal to Reimar of the Chatti. As a united front, with Rome at our backs, never again will our people face raids from other tribes! Our trade in Gaul will blossom! We stand at the precipice of peace and prosperity as we’ve never known!”

The crowd roared. I grimaced as though struck. Two blades arced through the firelight and sank into the bull’s fleshy neck as one. Blood gushed to the forest floor and the animal’s pained bellows joined the horns. 

It would fall to  _ Ôstara _ to determine whose sacrifice she honored this night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thusnelda comes face to face with the man she never expected to see again.

“Again!” I shouted.

Konrada rolled to her feet from the bed of short grass, shook her shoulders out, and assumed her fighting stance. Our long, lightweight spears forced us to take up position far from each other, much farther than sword fighting. I preferred our single blade swords to the spear, but couldn’t deny the benefits of a good spear. The length kept enemies at a distance. I could land cut after cut without my opponent getting anywhere near me. I could fell him with a single thrust and never be close enough to see the whites of his eyes. A well thrown spear could kill from 50 yards or more. On horseback, our circular formations could ensnare and cut down even the sturdiest Roman formation.

I whirled my spear over my head, round and round, let it gain momentum with each sweeping arc. Konrada stepped in a slow circle around me, watching each turn of my spear, waiting for her moment to strike. All around us, the forest loomed, pulsing and breathing into the open meadow where we practiced, not far from the village proper. 

Each time I turned the spear, I let the shaft slip a little further down my grasp until I gripped just a few inches from the end. The turns lengthened like a spiral. An unwary opponent would find themselves within my reach before they realized it happened. I hadn’t yet taught Konrada this maneuver, so I couldn’t fault her missing it. She was about to learn one of the trickiest spear skills, difficult for the wielder and too fast for any but a trained eye to catch. 

She waited, timing her lunge just right. As I predicted, she didn’t account for the increased length of my spear. The flat of my spearhead caught her hip and sent her tumbling into the wet grass again with a heavy _ oof_.

I guffawed into the milky blue, cloudless sky above. A light breeze deflected the sun’s heat, whispering through the trees, grasses and wildflowers newly in bloom. Spring seemed here in earnest. Our nights would warm and the days would soon turn blisteringly hot. For a few weeks, though, we would enjoy these perfect days.

“How did you do that?” Konrada dusted herself off and retrieved her weapon.

“It’s actually quite simple-”

Clapping echoed through the meadow. A legionary materialized from the wood, clapping and grinning like a child with a new toy. Konrada fell in at my side. The smug little man looked far too pleased with himself. I would wipe that smile from his face. More soldiers appeared, six in total. A patrol. 

I should have brought my dogs with us.

“See?” The first man spoke in Latin. “I told you these Germanian bitches are big. They can fight, too.”

I didn’t react to his insult. No sense in letting him know I spoke Latin as well as I spoke our native tongue. 

“That’s a fine piece of meat, though,” another said as he circled us, appraising our figures in high boots, doeskin leggings, and short tunics. “I’d let her ride me.”

They laughed. They smelled ripe from not bathing. All except the leader bore gaunt faces marked by darkened eyes. They’d just marched in from the west, across the Rhine where the Roman empire ended and the free land began, fresh troops for the encampment. 

The soldier circling nearest to me reached out to touch my hair. I jumped out of his reach, hissing like a cat and brandishing my spear at him.

His face reddened, but his peers burst into uproarious laughter. 

“I think this one bites,” the leader clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’d watch myself, these bitches learn to fight like men. I wouldn’t be surprised if this big bitch had a cock.”

_ And I wouldn’t be surprised to find you entirely without beneath that tunic_, I thought. Of course they’d think me tall and muscular. I was, compared to their stunted people and soft women. The Cherusci don’t breed weaklings.

“You remember what I taught you?” I kept my words low, for Konrada’s ears only, lest one of these animals understood our tongue.

She nodded once, her knuckles white around the wood of her spear. Without needing to be told, she positioned herself at my back, each of us canted to face the semicircle the soldiers formed around us.

Six against two were not good odds, but knowing I would make them suffer dearly for their assault, win or lose, brought a cruel twist to my lips. 

One of the idiots removed his armor, as if victory was so readily assured. Romans would believe that. _ Let them underestimate me. Let them believe I’ll make this easy_.

The leader twirled his sword in his palm, eyes alight with predatory satisfaction on me. “Look at her, gents. I think she wants this.”

He gripped his cock beneath his belt and tunic, and opened his mouth, waggling his tongue. His intent was clear enough. The damned idiot turned his back on us to share a congratulatory laugh with his men. I lunged forward with a powerful thrust of my spear. The other men shouted a warning and he jerked out of the way of my weapon. I didn’t stop the assault. 

Keep him off balance. 

Tangle his feet. 

Finish it quickly.

Bring him down. The others are still exhausted from the march. They’re too new. They’ll be easier to defeat. I heard the crack of Konrada’s spear against blades and armor and felt the air moving with her behind me. In my periphery, her own opponents couldn’t get near her. Good girl.

Fury pushed me beyond reason and I chose a different approach. I would see the whites of their eyes before I killed them.

The leader of this troop fought me with skill and experience. Our weapons clashed and rang off each other. Each impact jarred me to my bones. The earth churned to mud beneath our feet. Two others circled, but he barked them away. That suited me, as well.

He grew tired. His steps faltered and his blows came slower, weaker. I felt another coming before I noticed his absence from the group.

Swirling on my feet, I choked up my grip on my spear and sent it in a clean arc across the chest and belly of the soldier who’d been foolish enough to remove his armor, then attempt to sneak up on me. I didn’t slow to observe the extent of the damage, whirling back around to face the leader. He stood transfixed between shock and rage. His rage won out.

With a roar he lunged forward again, but his roar turned to a sharp cry and his body jerked. His sword flew from his grasp and he stumbled to his knees.

A spear grazed his right shoulder and sank into the earth behind him.

Soldiers of the most professional army in the world, the army that so easily conquered my people, turned to chaos. Leaderless, they scrambled, some to their wounded friends, one leveled an enraged snarl at me, and the others converged on Konrada.

Foolish girl. She was now unarmed and there were too many of them for me to defend us both.

Distracted by the imminent peril my young charge was in, I lost focus. A blow cracked against the back of my skull. The noise of it was deafening, or perhaps my senses lost track of the pain and expressed itself through a grating, shocking sound. I stumbled and fought to stay upright even as the earth wobbled beneath my feet.

Two came at me at once. My head rang and spun. They moved in a blur. Sharp stings burned my arm and leg. 

A blow to my stomach.

A blow to my back. 

My spear met flesh, but a fist met my jaw and I dropped to the mud.

The leader stood before me, panting, a little gray around the edges, with his sword under Konrada’s chin. Another hand gripped my hair and jerked me back to my knees.

“I’ll kill her!” the leader shouted.

My body seized with the desire to rip the leader apart at his rough handling of her. She was so small, even compared to these Romans. 

“Bind them.” The leader shook so badly the tip of his blade dug into her skin, drawing a trickle of blood. My breath stuttered for her. Warm blood trickled down my arms and legs, from my lips I could taste it.

It took a bit of fumbling and arguing as they hadn’t brought rope, but they managed. Strips of cloth dug into my wrists and my shoulders protested at the binding.

Two of their own lay dead in the meadow, a macabre scene fit for the days long past when people sacrificed other people. Blood and weapons and feet churning in fight turned the once beautiful meadow into a muddy battle site. At least men and deer smell the same when they’ve been struck down. If only one of our priestesses could be here to make the rites, then it could be my sacrifice to the gods, beseeching an end to Rome. Perhaps the gods longed for such a worthy sacrifice.

“Let’s go,” the leader said.

The one with a meaty, unwashed hand digging into my shoulder, shifted from foot to foot. “But Patrin, the men…”

Patrin, the leader, snarled back, “Unless you think you can carry a dead man and keep control of these barbarian whores, we’ll have to come back for them, won’t we?”

They marched us to the garrison, taking any opportunity to spit at and curse us. Patrin needed help remaining upright and moving forward with his wound, deeper than it first appeared. Blood flowed steadily, dripping from his fingertips. He didn’t speak, content to glare. Spittle dotted his curling lips. This man would tear us limb from limb if he could.

Konrada and I didn’t speak, though I felt tension rolling off her in waves. Darkness settled in and mist slowly roiled in a fragile dance on our path. I hoped these idiots knew their way, because one false step could land one or all of us in a bog. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could cast at least a few more to the Underworld by way of our inescapable swamps. To my disappointment, they seemed to know where our wooden roads created safer travel.

After nearly an hour, the sprawling camp loomed ahead. No matter how many times I saw it, it remained a marvel. Orderly rows of identical tents stretched as far as I could see beyond the high wooden walls. Evenly placed torches lined the perfectly aligned paths. Three golden eagles marked the divisions between legions. Torches made their gold dance, giving the raptors the illusion of life.

This is what civilization meant to them; lines, rules, order. They didn’t see our disorganized villages and leaders as order. If Rome was civilization, we were its antithesis. 

Soldiers stared, stopping whatever they were doing to watch our bloodied procession. Someone called for a centurion and a _ medicus_. 

We halted in front of one of the larger tents as a harried and tunic-clad soldier emerged. He assessed our bedraggled troop and set his jaw.

“Stand by,” he spoke in a low growl.

“Centurion-” Patrin started.

The centurion whirled, the veins on his neck bulged and in the torchlight he turned a lovely shade of purple. “The _ medicus _ can see you while you await my escort to the general.”

Droplets of moisture flew with each word.

When the centurion next appeared, he wore his full regalia from his polished molded breastplate to the horsehair crested helmet. He sent an optio ahead to alert whoever - I didn’t care - of our impending arrival.

More waiting followed. We interrupted their evening meal. I listened to the masculine voices, laughing, shouting, almost boyish in their unguarded state. They were too muffled by the layers of tent fabric and furs to catch more than a few words. News of our party traveled quickly through the camp. None dared to utter their taunts loudly enough to interrupt the general’s dinner.

After a parade of slaves - my people and others, collared like dogs - cleared away the dishes, a voice called in the centurion. 

I recognized the man on sight upon entering the tent. I’d seen him enough on his tours of our villages. General Publius Quinctilius Varus’ tent was appointed befitting his rank and position as the governor of our land. Sumptuous carpets and furs lined every surface, silver and gold items glittered in the candlelight and the smoldering brazier. He sat at a heavy, polished wooden table in an equally ornate chair. More solid furniture and thick couches filled the space. I pitied the men who had to move this furniture all the way from Rome just to make this little man feel important. His quarters smelled of dinner, wine, and scented oils, each man present glistening with it.

Men filled the seats dressed down to their tunics. None appeared particularly pleased with the interruption to their pleasant evening. 

I almost didn’t see the final man. He stood behind Varus, leaning indolently against one of the wooden tent poles and shadowed behind the overly-warm brazier. Once I saw him, he was all I could see. He stood tall, taller than any Roman and most of the conscripts from across the empire. Bronzed, thick arms crossed his chest, making him look even bigger. Having never left our lands and only seeing the men imported by Rome, I assumed ours were the largest people in the world. He would be noticeably huge even among our people. 

His light hair, shorn in the Roman style, marked him further in my eyes. One of our own stood at Varus’s shoulder. Somehow, his presence filled me with more anger than the whole of Patrin’s attack. Many of our boys had been hostaged to Rome after their assault some fifteen years ago, my first betrothed among them, but it was widely believed those sons were made slaves. Cherusci spoke rumors of our lost princes becoming great Roman warriors, but until this moment, I’d refused to believe it possible. None of our people survived capture, let alone gain position as Romans.

This man was no slave. They made him a Roman in a truly inventive insult, sending one of our own to enslave and oppress his own people. It was all true. In my mind’s eye, rage gave me the preternatural strength to burst free of my bindings, steal the centurion’s sword, and leap across the table to fell this bastardization with a mighty war cry. Instead, my wrists chafed and my body quaked with the unspent delirious madness.

He saw it, too, while the others ignored me, instead focusing on the centurion and Patrin. Icy blue eyes bored into me so intently it felt like a physical strike to my chest.

Questioning began with unrestrained hostility on all sides. Patrin insisted Konrada and I fell on them without provocation. The centurion insisted we were to be held accountable for wounding and killing his soldiers. One of the men at the table pushed to his feet and shouted with a pointed finger at the centurion about having no control over his men, who left the camp without permission. Not a patrol, after all.

Varus sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Arminius, ask the women for their story.”

_ Arminius _ . I knew that name almost as well as my own. He and I had been betrothed almost as soon as I left the womb, until he was taken. My would-be husband turned traitor. The boy I worshipped when he was still with us, then near deified in his absence. _ Traitor_.

He stepped around the table and I could finally get a good look at him. He was handsome enough, as I knew he would be when we were children. Had he stayed a Cherusci, I might have been thrilled with the arrangement. Now he disgusted me.

“What is your name?” Arminius asked me in our tongue, topped by an atrocious accent.

I wanted to spit on him so badly my teeth ground together. Instead, I responded in clear Latin to Varus, “I am Princess Thusnelda, daughter of Segestes, Chief of the Cherusci, and I demand you release us.”

The air sucked out of the room. Patrin lost himself and lunged for me, hurling expletives and insults, accusing me of lying. It seemed no one would stop his assault - I was, after all, a barbarian who had killed two Romans - until Arminius stepped between us. Quick as a wildcat, a brawny arm shot out and caught the smaller soldier by the throat. With a growl, he shoved Patrin into the centurion.

“Control your man.” Arminius took a breath and settled himself, but in that moment I could see him bearded and wearing our armor, leading our armies in his rightful place. More’s the pity.

In a sea of simmering tempers, Varus let out a delighted laugh. “Wonderful! She speaks! Your father has mentioned you. Tell us, Princess Thusnelda, how it was you came to kill two of the Empire’s fine soldiers.”

I hesitated to answer. It was highly unlikely they would believe my account over the men who attacked us. Arminius nodded at me, encouraging me to speak.

As if I needed his help.

“I took this girl for training,” I said. “We were practicing with spears.”

The Centurion snorted. “Are we to believe that two girls were training with spears?”

“Centurion,” Arminius fixed his attention on the man, “how long have you been stationed here?”

“A little over a year.”

“Then you should already be well versed enough in the local culture to know it’s commonplace among these people for women to hunt and join men on the battlefield, as these women have already demonstrated.”

Varus watched the exchange, smirking and vibrating in his amusement. With a magnanimous nod, he said, “Continue.”

“As we were preparing to spar again, these men came upon us. They stated their intention to violate us. We fought back.”

Varus erupted in laughter. No one joined his eerie humor, though he had to wipe tears from his eyes. “Are you telling me,” he gasped between body-shaking spasms of laughter, “that one woman and one child successfully repelled six of Rome’s finest soldiers, killed two and wounded three before being subdued?”

He continued laughing. The centurion shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “General, I-”

“Enough!” Varus slammed his fist on the table, all traces of humor gone in an instant. “Your incompetence as a leader has cost me two trained men and imperiled my control over the strongest tribe in this region. Now I will have to deal with Segestes and assure him his own daughter is safe under our rule, because your own men respect you so little they apparently come and go as they please, not to mention the obvious deficiencies in their training.”

The centurion colored. “General, you cannot possibly believe their word!”

“I don’t care what the truth is,” Varus said. “Segestes will see this as a great insult regardless, and it’s your fault.”

One of the other men stood from his seat. Like Varus, he wore a snowy white tunic trimmed in purple. The others wore the simple red garb issued to soldiers. “I will handle the men, General.”

“See that you do, Tribune. Do something about our guards and patrols, as well. Every man who was on watch and missed their departure from the gates must serve as an example to the others. Princess, this man,” he gestured to Arminius, “is one of yours. He’s here as my direct aide and something of an envoy between our two nations. Arminius, ensure the princess and her companion return to their homes without further harassment. If you can do anything to ease my way with Segestes, then...” he gestured vaguely.

“Yes, General,” Arminius said and gave a crisp salute. He turned to another soldier, “Escort them to my quarters and wait with them while I get my armor.”

Once placed in front of yet another Roman tent, the optio released our bindings. Arminius emerged after just a moment, now encased in the well polished molded armor Romans used for ceremonies. He cut an impressive figure, particularly once he donned the crested helmet. He would be nothing less than a giant in battle. 

He was a Cherusci remade in their image and I hated him.

“Are you all right?” He reached to cup my elbow, but I jerked it away.

I beckoned Konrada to my side and set off without responding.

We walked on in silence, Konrada trailing behind us, until we were well past the camp, enveloped in the night.

“Thusnelda, do you remem-” Arminius started.

“I know who you are.”

I didn’t look at him, but I tracked his slight recoil, the resigned press of his lips in my periphery. 

He let didn’t reply for a few steps before he cocked his head. “Do you think Segestes will still honor our betrothal?”

That stopped me in my tracks. “_What? _”

Arminius chuckled and kept walking, leaving me scrambling and sputtering to keep up. I knocked my shoulder into him as I passed, a mistake driving into the metal armor, but I didn’t let the pain show. Long past the heady rush of a fight, aches and bruises revealed themselves in my body. My cuts burned. Even my scalp stung. I would die before letting Arminius see any of these wounds hurt me.

“That was nullified the moment you defected to Rome. Besides, I’m already-”

“Defected?” He quickened his pace to catch me. Poor Konrada had to jog to keep up. “Is that how your father is telling it?”

I slowed enough to trace a derisive sneer up and down his body. “It will be once everyone sees what you’ve become.”

The words tasted like venom on my tongue, but I couldn’t take them back. I wouldn’t. My anger didn’t want me to. Konrada followed in silence, now at a safer distance. I loathed the thought of her witnessing this little scene. Blessedly, Arminius chose to stop needling me as we picked our way down the muddy trail through the pitch-dark woods. 

When we arrived at the village, he made no move to follow us further.

I waved Konrada on, but her face twisted. “Thusnelda, I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. We’ll talk tomorrow. Don’t speak of this to your family. I’ll handle it.” I prepared to lay into Arminius, but his expression stopped me.

His lips parted in uncertainty and his eyes darted about the village, taking it all in. The dirt lane down the center stood empty due to the late hour, but it lead directly to my longhouse, the same one that used to belong to his family. 

“This is your first time back?” I asked, though I knew the answer.

Arminius nodded. His throat bobbed with a deep swallow of air. 

I pitied him. He was in a position I could only vaguely imagine, but I did know the bonds of family and loyalty that ran deep among the Cherusci. I wondered what he was seeing - the past or present? Did he see things changed, or did he see visions of the village and people he left?

“Go. I will smooth things over with my father.”

Arminius jerked back to the present. “What?”

“You can come back tomorrow and plead Varus’ case.”

He scraped a hand along his jaw, I think to hide a smile. “No, it’s better to settle this tonight. We both know if I walk away now, I’ll be a traitor and a coward, to boot. It’s better this way.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “but Segestes will not be pleased to be woken in the middle of the night, least of all by you.”

His face split into a brilliant, unguarded smile. “I’ve faced worse. Frankly, after your performance this evening, I’m far more afraid of facing you.”

I rolled my eyes and stepped off toward the longhouse without him, calling over my shoulder, “You should be so lucky.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's worse than entertaining Romans in her home?
> 
> Sitting across from Arminius and her betrothed for a whole meal.

A few nights later, dinner was a tense affair, though you would never have known it from the way Arminius wolfed down his plates. Every few minutes he would pause just long enough to explain a dish or a custom or a turn of phrase to Varus, who had the good graces to at least feign an interest in learning more about the people he governed.

I longed to be anywhere but the family table at the head of the house. My bedroom in particular called to me. I loved the beaded necklaces and bronze bracelets I wore, but they threatened to strangle me this evening. My favorite gown, a lightweight wool in cornflower blue with deep red details, felt too heavy and cumbersome. The fire must have been too large as sweat dotted the back of my neck. Between bites of food, I tugged at my sleeves, my bracelets, even the neckline of my modest gown.

Segestes surrendered his usual position of honor at the head of the table to Varus. My brothers and I arranged ourselves alongside Segestes by age. Wout took the seat next to father. I took the next, and the twins, Lennart and Levin, filled the rest of the bench. A tribune - Lucius or Marcus or something else painfully Roman - took the seat flanking his general, which placed Arminius squarely across from me.

If I was peevish over the seating arrangements, Reimar, was furious. He’d ridden hard from his Chatti lands to check on my welfare as soon as word reached him of what happened. Of course, I knew well enough that by “my welfare” what he really meant was to gain assurances from Segestes that I had not been soiled by a troop of Romans and was, therefore, still a worthwhile investment.

He bristled like an angry bear to be seated at the end of the table. He grumbled in our tongue that as a prince and soon-to-be son-in-law of Segestes, he belonged in Wout’s seat. Reimar took particular offense every time Arminius winked at me and snickered at one of Reimar’s comments, which was often.

I itched to give Arminius a swift kick to the shins, but I’d only hurt myself against one of his greeves. The bastard.

If Segestes noticed Arminius’s behavior, he didn’t care. My father would chop off his own hand at Rome’s request, lest he offend his great benefactors. There are times when his eyes shine with unmistakable love for these men, more so than he’s ever shown me or my departed mother.

“You’re a lucky man, Reimar.” Arminius kept his voice low enough to not draw attention from the conversation at the head of the table.

An angry flush crawled up Reimar’s neck before disappearing beneath his thick red beard. Though not as tall as Arminius, Reimar possessed a thick frame and a reputation on the battlefield envied by warriors across Germania. If there was to be a fight between the pair, I found myself hard pressed to determine the victor.

Arminius slowed his chewing and cast a childishly innocent look between us. “She can cook.” He gestured at me with his spoon. “A wife who can cook this well is a rare gift, indeed.”

He tucked back into his meal with masculine gusto that made me want to hit him with a plate.

Instead, I plastered a sickly sweet smile on my face. “You are too kind, Arminius, but I merely gave the kitchen _scalcs _instructions.”

Arminius placed his hand around his alehorn and set his attention squarely on me. My skin prickled with gooseflesh under the intensity of his stare. All other noise and activity dimmed, leaving me alone in the longhouse with Arminius, who traced his long, blunt fingers up and down the sides of the horn. I suppressed a shiver under all that unrelenting focus.

“A wife so comfortable in command is an even rarer gift.” He took a long pull of ale and clapped a hand across Reimar’s shoulders, shattering the strange sense of solitude we’d shared. “Besides, a man could do worse than taking to a wife a woman who stood against six legionnairies and lived to tell the tale with hardly a scratch on her.”

“Yes,” Reimar’s voice boomed. He hadn’t taken to Latin as naturally as I had. Soldiers still mocked his guttural mispronunciations. “I would like to know why this insult to our honor we have not discussed.”

All eyes turned to Reimar. My father looked ready to boil over. Before he could speak, Varus waved a hand.

“No, the boy is right.”

Reimar was hardly a boy, graying at the edges as he was.

Varus swirled the wine in his cup. Father ensured he always had an amphora available for notable Roman guests in our home. This marked the first occasion he had to serve it.

“My soldiers caused insult to both your fine houses. I am here to build bridges, not burn them. Please, accept my apologies and assurances that the four survivors have been made an example of for the legions.”

Segestes harrumphed. “And when they attack again? I’m sorry, General, but this matter calls into question our entire arrangement.”

“Is that so?” For a little man, Varus possessed an edge of danger lurking just beneath a jovial surface. The Roman emperor, a chief of chiefs, chose him to bring us to heel. I did not imagine that a man became emperor of these cunning people by being slow-witted.

“Yes,” Varus’s voice remained deceptively calm, “our men demonstrated a violation of our most basic disciplinary principles, and nearly lost a fight to two girls, no less. I can understand why you might feel that way. However, I swear on my gods and my legions that Rome will honor her promises to you.”

“How?” Remair spat. “How you will do this? Cherusci and Chatti have been most loyal, but our women still not safe.”

For the first time since our betrothal, I found myself swelling with pride for Reimar. Knowing I would be wed to a man willing to confront the Romans brought me comfort. Reimar was not the boot licker Segestes was.

Varus studied Reimar, much the way a cat studies a mouse, indifferently waffling between killing the small creature and sharing his crumbs.

“Tribune Fimbria and my legatus are working closely together to address the training concerns raised by this incident. Our mutual friend Arminius-” Segestes barely hid his snarl - “is here to not only help your people adjust to Rome’s way of life, but also to help me guide my legions in understanding Germania. Together, I believe we can prevent such misunderstandings in the future.”

I indulged in a silent scoff. A misunderstanding, indeed. Six armed men attempted to rape me and a little girl for the misfortune of crossing their paths. This was of little matter to the fine men at our table. The insult to Konrada was nothing to them and the insult to me was merely an insult due to my value as a potential wife. My insignificance was always apparent to me, but never more so than at this dinner. I lost my appetite, instead choosing to drink my ale as quickly as possible. My hand shook on the horn and the drink turned to dust in my mouth. Pushing my plate away would be rude, so I settled for moving the food around aimlessly with my wooden spoon.

Reimar opened his mouth to argue, but Segestes silenced him with a single look. “I understand and appreciate your efforts, General, but as you can see, it is not common for Germanians to accept redress in this matter. We are but a barbaric people and the Chatti may view Reimar’s acceptance of these terms as weakness. I’m sure you can understand.”

“He’s correct, General,” Arminius said. “Such an assault, particularly of the daughter of a tribe chieftain, would normally call for war between the tribes, or at least an opportunity for the offended party to face the aggressors in single combat.”

With a snap of Varus’s fingers, a slave materialized from a darkened corner of the the longhouse. He placed a small but heavy sack in front of Segestes, then another before Reimar.

“Perhaps this will help ease relations between us.”

Reimar tugged the sack open and grunted. “We do not use coins here. These are without meaning.”

Varus shot a hard look to Arminius, who cleared his throat and said, “More and more Germanians are using our _denarii _for trading, especially outside of Germania. You will find-”

“What business do Chatti have trading beyond Germania? We have good trade here. You should know this.”

_Our_ denarii. Our. My skin crawled. It was not ours, it was Rome’s and Arminius was a Roman. I wanted to rail at him, but if I were to speak now, Segestes would beat me later. It may not have been the kind of bravery our people sang in songs, but I believed a smart warrior waited until the most opportune moment to strike, when she knew her blade strike a killing blow.

“Tell them,” Varus said. “It will soon be your duty liaise with the tribes, so you might as well get used to it.”

Arminius shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “The general plans on eliminating trade-based taxation. Within the year, Germanians in the region will be expected to pay their taxes in _denarii_.”

Even Segestes balked at that. “Forgive me, but what you ask is impossible. In a few years, perhaps, but just one year? We Cherusci number in the tens of thousands. Distribution of the coins could take years, let alone convincing my people to use them.”

“I’m not asking,” said Varus. “I am telling you this will happen. The border tribes have adapted well enough. Rome did not become what she is by hiding behind caution.”

_No_, I thought, _she grew like a plague, relentlessly sweeping across the land, killing indiscriminately, leaving the survivors marked by her disease_.

My father accepted the rebuke while Reimar chose silence. I decided our match would be strong. He would soon know me as an invaluable partner.

“We are not on the border,” I said. All eyes fell to me. My spine straightened under their scrutiny. “They use your coins to trade with your people. We have no need of this.”

A bright crimson flush colored the men of my family. Wout went rigid beside me. Reimar studied me impassively, his expression betrayed nothing, though it marked the first time he spared more than a glance my direction.

Segestes contorted his features into an obsequious smile for Varus. “Please forgive my daughter. I’m afraid I’ve been an indulgent father with this one. Wout-”

“Yes, Father.” Wout stood and took my arm in a bruising grip. The table bumped and rocked as Wout and others rushed to their feet.

“Bah,” Varus waved a dismissive hand, “she speaks the truth. Don’t send her away on my account.”

His fixed, predatory stare belied his light tone. I resisted the urge to turn away and rub the spot on my biceps Wout released. I waited for Segestes to continue apologizing on my behalf, but his attention fixed on Arminius, who settled himself back in his seat. Had he stood when Wout grabbed me?

The gathering turned its attention to Arminius, looking as bewildered as I felt. He chuckled, two or three forced laughs. “Apologies, gentlemen. The last time someone put hands on this woman, two men died and another got speared.”

Once Varus erupted in laughter, the rest of the party followed.

This was to be a long damn night.

As evening wore on, more villagers piled into our home at Varus’s request. His slaves left and returned with amphoras of wine, bread, olives, cheese, and their beloved olive oil. As the woman of our house, I was left scrambling about the kitchens to assemble more food and drink for our guests. To their credit, our_ scalcs_ responded admirably, especially under Jotapa’s skilled supervision. Hospitality was serious business across Germania. In a land as unforgiving and hostile as ours, welcoming people into your home was no idle matter. They were to be fed, offered drink and warm blankets, places to sleep comfortably. The fires must be carefully controlled to adjust to the influx of bodies in our space, never to be too cold nor too hot.

The sour yet salty stench of hardworking bodies mingled with the wine and food. I was glad to have dined so lightly; far less to lose later.

The Chersuci and Reimar’s personal retinue of Chatti warriors took their wine unwatered and imbibed with gleeful abandon. Segestes revelled in the opportunity to show the Germanians how wonderful civilization could be, even while their backs ached from the extra labor required to pay Roman taxes, while their sons and daughters disappeared into slavery, while their most prized son dressed, spoke, and ate as a Roman.

The man in question sidled his way to where I stood, observing the crowd, checking for any deficiencies to meet before anyone could accuse the chief of the Cherusci of failed hospitality.

Naturally, _Arminius_ didn’t smell like a filthy man fresh from the fields. He smelled clean and woodsy, like he’d been tending to a fire in the forest. I could only barely make out the scented oil Romans called a bath. I found it uncomfortably pleasant.

Arminius took a sip of ale, one of few in the large open room who didn’t chose the wine.

“_Panem et circenses_.”

I could hardly hear him over the general din of voices, laughter, dishes clattering. A piper whistled out a merry tune and the nearest clapped along.

“What?” I understood the words, _bread and circuses_, but not why he would seek me out to say random things.

“All this,” Arminius nodded at the room, “it’s what Romans do to smooth things over. You give people good wine, food, some entertainment, suddenly they’re not so worried about their taxes, crime, and poverty.”

“And what is the entertainment here?”

My father laughed too loudly at something Varus said. A chorus of Germanians joined him.

“They get to spend an evening pretending Varus is their peer, that he is a man of the people who cares about each of them individually. When legionnaires come for their taxes, these men will remember this night and think more kindly of their Roman benefactors.”

I crossed my arms and squared myself to him. “Is that how you see yourselves? As our benefactors?”

Something dark and angry flashed behind his cool gaze. “I am Cherusci.”

“So you say.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Believe whatever you want.”

I watched his back retreat into the crush and found myself catching him in the corner of my eye as I went about my duties. Tall even for one of us, but bedecked in Roman armor and the scarlet cloak pinned to his armor, he didn’t seem to belong to either group. He dwarfed the pitifully small and wiry Varus and the relatively larger tribune. The Cherusci and Chatti folk watched him openly, uncaring if he caught their curious stares.

I didn’t know why it bothered me to know how aware he must be of his predicament, or why I should care that I continued to wound him. Why would stating the truth hurt him? As far as I knew, nothing compelled him to stay with the army. He could reclaim his identity whenever he chose.

Determined to get him out of my sight and, hopefully, remove him from my thoughts, I turned on my heel and left by the front doors. The cool night air refreshed my tired nostrils. I could breathe in the trees and clean moisture. Even the hay and animal scents from the barn, where we kept our stock through spring and summer, soothed my frayed nerves. My two favorite dogs loped to my side. I slipped them each a crust of bread and they stayed close at my heels on my slow meandering toward the wooden corral where our stout, thickly furred horses munched lazily at patches of wild grass. Segestes hated how I treated the dogs. He wanted them at least half feral, ready to rip apart any who dared to trespass on our property. I preferred them like this - loyal and infinitely biddable. When they joined me on hunts, they followed my commands with a discipline to rival any Roman legion. Donar, my biggest dog, leaned his body against my leg, so I lazily scratched his head and rubbed his ears. My quiet friends could soothe me out of my worst moods.

Donar’s ears perked and he turned to look behind me. Sunna’s low growl rumbled through the night. I followed the direction of their attention and saw the shape of a large man striding our direction. When I recognized him as Reimar, I ordered the dogs, “_Plotz_.” They both dropped instantly to their bellies.

Reimar smiled down at me with glassy eyes and ale on his breath, another man in the room who refused the wine.

His meaty hand gripped my arm. “’Elda, there you are.” He gave my thick golden braid a light tug, rubbing the loose ends between his thumb and forefinger. “Are you sure you are well?”

“I’m fine.” I took a casual step back and returned my attention to the horses. “I just needed fresh air, is all. Thank you for your concern.”

Reimar joined me, leaning on the fence a respectful distance away. “I know it is not necessary, but since we are not to be married for many months, I could call on you here. We could get to know each other a bit, before…”

Our wedding wasn’t to happen until the start of winter. Gods forbid Segestes lose a valuable hand come harvest and slaughter time.

My eyes were well adjusted to the darkness and the moonlight allowed me to see him clearly. I searched his face for some sign of deception, that he really intended to take liberties with me before our wedding. Only honesty marked his features, the same honesty I’d seen at dinner. Our people didn’t dissemble quite the way Romans did. Those who sought Rome’s succor adapted well enough, my father being one of them. But Reimar had hardly been able to contain his outrage with Varus himself. This was a man who would die before being cowed to their ways.

“Yes,” I said, “that would be fine.”

He grunted, low and soft. He did not smile, but I could see the pleasure in his eyes. We would court, both pretending the matter wasn’t already settled.

It was more than fine, I decided. I liked it.

The next morning, I sat near the main fire in our dining hall, stitching a tear in one of Wout’s tunics. I listened to the quiet chatter of the _scalcs_ as they cleaned up from the evening’s festivities. Two of the younger ones blushed and giggled over the attention from some of the Chatti men. It brought a small smile to my lips and a twinge of grossly misplaced jealousy. They were slaves and I was to be a queen, yet they had certain freedoms I lacked. I couldn’t afford dalliances with handsome strangers, nor even the friendships they shared. The sole exception happened years earlier with my own little rebellion. One night with a Marsi warrior was all I thought it would take to deter my father’s marriage ambitions. I could wed the handsome nobody and go on about my life miles and miles from Segestes.

Footsteps pounded from the rear of the house. I didn’t look up from my work, but I could feel Segestes’ presence hovering over me.

“Arminius isn’t welcome in our home. See to it.”

For that, I paused and set the needlework aside. “I hardly see how that will be possible given his position. Besides, I’m not sure why you hate him so much. He is exactly what you hope for all of us.”

He wanted to strike me. I could see the desire trembling from his hair to his toes. I held his challenging stare. Let him try. He struck all of us throughout our childhoods until we grew strong enough to fight back. It had taken quite a bit longer for me to catch up with even the twins, but in my twentieth summer, when my muscles filled my long limbs and thickened with hard work, became fast and lethal with hunting and training, I hit him back. He had been at once proud and furious, and his blows came less and less.

Instead of slapping me, he pointed a dirty, calloused finger in my face. “You know damn well why.”

I really didn’t. “I really don’t.”

The veins bulged in his neck and he swept his hand out to knock everything he could reach off the table, including Wout’s tunic. “This is his _samantwist_ house, Thusnelda! Don’t you understand how precarious our situation is? Everything I’ve worked for, all the sacrifices, the safety I have made for us, all could be gone with a few words from his lips.”

I wanted to roll my eyes and finish my work, but that would only provoke him further. “Is he not one of their horse lords? What would he want with being chief of the Cherusci?”

The concept of strict ranks beyond chiefs eluded Germanians, myself included. I understood that he’d been awarded citizenship and they called him an _equestrian_, but what that actually meant was beyond me.

The anger drained from his body. He ran his hand through his scraggly dark hair. My fair looks were a gift from my mother. “I’ve shielded you from too much. I can’t expect you to understand this, but hear me now, daughter: we may not be able to keep him out of this house, but if I hear of you conversing with him again, I will put you out. You will no longer be my daughter. Reimar will not have you. No man worth having will take you.”

He left me alone in the hall to stew on his proclamation. He struck a hard line, even for him.

What in _hella_ did he think I had to do with Arminius reclaiming his seat?


	4. Chapter 4

I took to the woods again. My instinct to fetch Konrada and bring her along died as quickly as it rose. The last time I was supposed to protect and guide her, my own foolishness nearly got both of us raped and the gods only knew what would have followed.

Something nebulous shifted that day, though I couldn’t name it. It had certainly revealed the depth of my complacency about the Romans, but my gut veered away from this as the root of my new discomfort. No, it was something else, a sense that my life just took a different direction and I was powerless to stop it. 

Growing up, my mother often said I was more  _ landvættir _ than girl, a land spirit tragically confined to a longhouse when my true home lay in the wilds. While my brothers played in the village, I could be found in the trees. The darkness, the mist, the oppressive crush of towering pines, beeches, and oaks never frightened me the way they did most children. Where others saw evil spirits, I saw a multitude of life and opportunity. All manner of plants and animals thrived here. At every glance I could find a clutch of flowers well hidden yet reaching for the sun. I still sighted new birds almost every time I entered these woods. A babbling brook was my music, its watery smell blending with soil, leaves, grasses, tree bark.

Sunna and Donar trotted at my heels, the three of us nimble over the tangle of branches, mud, and dense understory. Moss and bark and moisture mingled in the air, their smell heightened in the rolling wet mist. I would not make the mistake of wandering from the village without the dogs again.

I snaked my hand out to a clutch of plump blackberries on my path. Each dog got one, though they never actually ate the berries. I chewed them slowly, one at a time, savoring their sweetness.

When I married Reimar, would he permit me this kind of freedom? I liked to think so, but I didn’t know him well enough to be sure. In truth, I took my situation here for granted. For all Segestes’ faults, he allowed me this. I never quite gathered why, though I liked to imagine that somewhere inside him was a father who loved his daughter. He let me dictate the course of my own days. Many men kept their women on much tighter leashes. Would Reimar be among them? He did not scold me, nor did he look affronted by my interruption at dinner. He followed me outside and respected my need for space. Yes, I believed he would not keep me as though I were his personal dog.

I peeked up through a gap in the trees where sunlight filtered to the forest floor. At least two hours had passed since I first set off, marking me a healthy distance from our village. I should be close to another Cherusci village, but sticking to the  _ wald _ meant I was unlikely to encounter anyone else. 

Faint voices drifted through the trees and I cursed myself twice a fool. I must have wandered closer to the roads between our villages than I thought.

“It’s never going to happen,” a male voice said. He spoke our language, but his accent was unfamiliar.  _ A Germanian auxiliary? _ I wondered.

“You are absolutely correct, Ermin,” a familiar voice answered. I’d recognize Arminius’s strange blending of our language and accent with the lilting notes of Latin anywhere. That I’d also immediately recognized the rumbling timbre of his voice was something I chose to ignore. It absolutely, positively did not matter that I knew his voice as well as my own after so few meetings.

With a hiss and a sharp hand gesture, both dogs dropped to their bellies. I followed the voices on light feet, careful to minimize the noise of my body traveling through brush. Sunna and Donar would remain just as I left them until I called, or if they heard me in distress.

“Watch how Varus works,” Arminius went on. I couldn’t yet see them through the understory, but I was close enough to hear the steady clopping of several horses. “He sets an impossible standard he knows damn well the people can’t meet. They’ll be harried and desperate by the time we come to collect. Then, in his magnanimity, we will graciously accept alternative payments; grain, livestock, men for the  _ alae _ , slaves.”

“But that’s what they’re already paying,” another voice answered.

Leather armor and saddles creaked with the rocking gait of their horses. I could now smell the animals.

Arminius said, “Precisely, but the people will view it as a gift from a forgiving governor. He will soften them, convince them that Rome’s taxation is fair and just. Overnight, they won’t mind so much anymore.”

A chill shivered up my spine. He was right. It was Roman dissembling, manipulation. As our people softened to the Empire’s demands, so too would they soften to Rome.

The trees thinned, so I ducked behind a clump of thick, thorny bushes. Arminius rode ahead of six auxiliary soldiers in their cheap, thin armor and mismatched tunics. The massive Roman war horse he rode looked like one of our stout, hardy nags beneath him.

“You all need to pay attention, study their methods, how they think. What we are about to undertake requires all of you to be observant.” Arminius pulled his horse to a halt. “Everyone go ahead. I’ll catch up. I think that Greek cook is trying to kill me.”

Ermin laughed and took the lead. “C’mon lads, let’s give the man some privacy to shit his brains out.”

The others followed, laughing and tossing ribald comments to Arminius as they went. Once out of sight, he dismounted. First, he removed his helmet, then his scarlet cloak with the methodical precision of a man not remotely ill. He strode into the treeline a few yards ahead of me and I tracked him until he disappeared.

He’d seen me, I knew it. I gauged his distance and direction, then pushed forward on silent, well trained feet where he entered the  _ wald _ . He would not expect this. He would take a wide berth to circle me, where he thought I was, and sneak up from behind. I would do the same.

The  _ wald _ fell silent. No birds called, no small animals scampered, and the distinct sounds of a food-sick man were absent. I predicted his intent correctly. More silent steps brought me closer. He did a good enough job concealing his path, but his size and armor betrayed him. I saw his armor, glinting in the sunlight. I drew my sword at the precise moment he spun and drew his own. Mine remained aloft, but he immediately dropped his weapon and his shoulders sagged.

He held his hands up in supplication. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure it was you at first, then I didn’t want you to scream and call the men back.”

“What do you want?” I kept my body angled to his, ready to flee or fight. 

“What do  _ I _ want?” His eyes widened in surprise. “I’m not the one lurking about in the woods, listening in on people’s conversations.”

“I was not lurking, you-” I bit back another insult I’d regret. “I was out for a walk. I’m sorry I didn’t think it wise to announce my presence to seven soldiers, particularly after how the last lot treated me.”

“Fair enough.” His blue eyes softened. “You still wander the woods?”

I didn’t answer him. I stayed on my feet while he found a seat on a felled log, as casual as if we were two friends sharing pleasant afternoon. He reached into a pouch on his belt and produced two shiny red apples, tossing me one and keeping the other for himself.

“Do you have any idea,” he crunched into the fruit, “how many times over the years I followed you through these woods? It made me crazy. I would beg my father to tell Segestes to make you stop and he would just laugh at me.”

I raised the apple to my lips but stopped at his words. “Why would you follow me? And never tell me?”

“To the first question,” he took another loud bite of his apple, “a man has a responsibility to his future bride, even if she is a reckless and particularly annoying child. As to the other, no matter how badly I wanted to take you by your little arm and march you back to your father for the punishment I was certain you needed, I could never bring myself to do it. You looked so happy out here.”

A fresh shiver danced across my skin. I never knew I’d had a silent guardian on my childhood adventures. Arminius was fifteen when they took him. I was nine and only just coming to realize I’d been betrothed to a handsome, worthy man who, if by my childish standards, was also ancient and would surely die before giving me children. I did not care for the idea, but it chafed less with each passing year. Then he was taken.

I took a bite of my own apple, blind to its flavor as I mulled over how I might answer him.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this.” I cringed at my phrasing as soon as the words left my mouth.

The pleasant haze of childhood memories dropped from his expression, in its place came the granite countenance of a hard man.

Arminius stood. He adjusted the leather bracers on his wrists and straightened his armor. “That you shared two minutes of friendly chatting with the most hated man in Magna Germania will remain a secret. I’ll go.”

“Wait.” I reached from one of those bracers to stop him. As soon as my fingers made contact, I jerked back as if I’d been scalded. “I’m sorry. What I mean is Segestes has forbidden me from speaking to you. He says he will disown me if he finds out we’ve...socialized.”

I didn’t want him to leave. The thought blew through me like a blast of winter wind. I wanted to stay out here in his company, reminiscing over simpler times, as two childhood friends. For a brief moment, I hadn’t seen a traitor, a Cherusci brought to heel by Romans, as obedient and loyal as my dogs. I saw only a man.

“Why?” he asked.

We stood too close to each other, but neither backed away. Ensconced in the tall trees, it was easy to believe we were the only two in the world.

I had to tilt my head to look him in the eye. “He thinks you will challenge him for the chieftainship. I think he believes Reimar will take offense and end their alliance if I’m seen with you.”

He huffed a dry laugh. “I don’t want to be chief of the Cherusci.”

“Then what do you want?”

My stomach seemed to flip within my belly when he only gazed at me. Heat radiated from him like a warm embrace. His eyes flickered to my lips and he leaned as if to close the distance between us. Arminius abruptly stepped back and cleared his throat. I froze, mentally scrambling for all the reasons I should be outraged instead of bereft. Outrage I could handle. Outrage was easier than reconciling the confused tumult of emotion roiling through my chest.

“We should go,” he said in a voice gruffer than normal.

Again at a loss for words, I whistled for my dogs. They came bounding through the brush with all the subtlety of a pack of bears on the hunt.

Arminius turned to leave, then stopped. “Thusnelda?”

“Yes?” There was no reason to whisper, yet I did.

A muscle in his jaw flexed and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. “I know what you think of me, and what everyone thinks. I want you to know it’s not true.”

He didn’t wait for me to reply. He left to rejoin his men and I left to return to the village, telling myself over and over that our paths were unlikely to cross again.


	5. Chapter 5

Wailing drew me from slumber. Shouting rose up in the village, voices blending into a cacophony of fear and outrage.

Instantly alert, I jerked up from the comfort of my bed and lunged for a clean tunic and leggings. Our longhouse was alive with activity. A flurry of  _ scalcs _ ’ feet thumped across the wooden floors. Usually quiet, especially at this hour, their voices echoed through our halls. They were arming Segestes and my brothers and chattering about legionaries arresting young men in the village.

I finished tying on my boots and belt. My sword hung heavy on my hip and my pulse thundered. At last, the Romans crossed a line even Segestes couldn’t abide. In our land, justice was meted out by the whole community. No one man, not even a chief, had the right to punish a criminal on his own. The most egregious and untamable criminal possessed a fundamental right to live and could still serve a purpose within a tribe, even as a  _ scalc _ , where he might earn his freedom back should he prove himself worthy. Death was the realm of the gods. It was not meant for men to decide who may live or die in judgment. Even in the old times, generations long past when our priestesses called for human sacrifice, the most noble of our people volunteered their own lives in tribute.

The Roman practice of crucifixion was so profoundly barbaric, few among us could speak of it. That one man, a governor, a general, a magistrate, could order slow, painful death upon a wooden cross for crimes as minor as theft was an affront to our way of life. Our gods would not abide an offense like this and it was for us to prevent a Roman-led atrocity.

I found Segestes and my brothers in all their battle finery. Unlike Romans, with their chainmail and brilliant silver armor and bright scarlet tunics, Cherusci favored camouflage and the freedom of movement metal armor inhibited. Simple leather overshirts covered dark tunics and trousers or leggings. As chief, Segestes wore a wolf skin headdress to mark his station, while my brothers donned dull helmets, dented and worn. They each held their spears, but to my confusion, their shields remained mounted above our head table.

“Father,” I said, “What is-”

His face clouded and his posture slumped. “Thusnelda, stay in the house.”

“I have seen more battle than Levin and Lennart combined. I can help.”

The twins snarled and Wout scoffed. “We are not going to war with three legions, you little idiot.”

I crowded into his space, toe to toe. He looked so much like our father with his dark features. His braids and beard hung longer and without Segestes’ mottling of gray. Same nose, same thick brows, same woody eyes. Is that why he followed Segestes’s temperament, was he predestined to age into our father? As children we’d been thick as thieves. Now we faced each other as two tribes, not yet at war but it loomed beyond the horizon. 

Segestes stepped between our standoff and smoothed a hand over my shoulder. I tracked gesture with unsure eyes. He pulled his hand back and clenched it at his side.

“We go to negotiate with Varus. Some Cherusci men were caught stealing from the Roman supply stores. I will do everything I can to smooth things over, at least convince him to let us handle their punishment.”

I jerked away from him. “You believe you can negotiate with them?”

Again Wout opened his mouth to censure me, dripping with derision, but my father stayed Wout’s words.

“No,” Segestes said, “I know who I am dealing with. I am not the fool you think I am. What I do, I do for all of us.”

Each brother made a point of jostling me on their way out the door, while I remained rooted in place, silent and scrambling for better answers.  Jotapa materialized from a darkened hallway. She set a basket of linens on the nearest table and took my chilled hands in her warm ones.

“I know you are upset, we all are, but if you rush out there and stir things up, you will make it worse on everyone.”

Angry tears burned my eyes, but I would not let them fall. She was right. Not that it would stop me from going out there.

I nodded once and said, “I’ll go out the back door. I just want to see what’s happening.”

Her face drew tight, but she stepped aside to let me pass. Before I got to the door, she called out, “Perhaps you should leave your sword. I’ll put it away for you.”

That gave me pause, just enough to consider it. It would be safer for everyone if I was unarmed, but the weapon at my hip felt so right. I spared her a single hard look before leaving through one of the back doors.

I only made it three steps, preparing to loop behind a few small buildings and stay out of sight, when a throat cleared behind me. I froze and steeled myself to face one of my brothers who had no doubt anticipated my plan.

Instead, I found Arminius standing on the other side of the door, arms crossed and lips pulled into a frown. 

“Whatever you think you’re doing,” he said, “don’t.”

Thought never entered my mind before I lunged at him. Had I a modicum of self control, it might have been a more fair fight. Arminius’s eyes widened, but he sidestepped me easily, caught my outstretched arm and pivoted until he was behind me. He caught my other arm just as quickly.

I kicked my legs and feet, but they only hit his metal greaves. Flailing earned me sharp pain in my shoulders. I think he was speaking, urging me to settle down, but I couldn’t hear him over the roaring in my ears. In a last ditch effort, I pushed off my feet as high and hard as I could, then slammed the back of my head into what I hoped was Arminius’s face.

It was.

Unfortunately, it felt like willfully knocking my head into a boulder. He dropped me and I stumbled to my knees, scrambling for purchase even as the world tilted this way and that. Behind me, Arminius groaned and cursed, then recovered much faster than I did.

While I fought for equilibrium, his big, heavily armored body crashed into mine. Before I could make sense of the attack, I was on my back, legs pinned beneath his, arms pinned beneath me, locked in place by a single hand, and his other forearm across the breadth of my chest. A drop of blood from his nose fell onto my cheek. I tried once, twice, and a final third time to unseat him before admitting my fight was a lost cause.

“Are you finished?” he asked, so close his breath mingled with my own.

Dirt and small rocks dug into my shoulders and arms and struggling only made it worse. I let my held fall back into the dust and regretted it immediately. A fresh stab of pain set dots spinning and blinking before my eyes.

The bastard on top of me had the gall to smirk. “I ask you again, are you done?”

I could only nod and let my body relax. He loosened his hold but didn’t release me. At least some of the pain in my shoulders relented. 

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be nailing our people to crosses?” I gritted my teeth and hissed the words, anything to mask the devastation.

The depth of his sigh echoed through the length of my body. He closed his eyes and that muscle twitched in his jaw. The thick bristle along his chin and cheeks told me he hadn’t shaved this morning. 

“I am trying,” he said, eyes still closed. “I will push Varus to release them back to Segestes, I swear it, but they were caught in the act and Roman law is clear. I cannot do any good here if you and I run into the square swinging swords.”

“How many?” I couldn’t see the village square from my position. I could see him though, eyes dark enough to match the northern seas and wrought with pain. Perhaps the blood drying beneath his nose and around his mouth made them stand out more.

“Four, all grown.”

He sat back on his haunches and though I was glad to free my arms, his familiar scent went with him.

I pushed away from him and drew my knees to my chest. Puffy clouds in the sky looked friendly enough for now, but I knew by afternoon they would amass into a gray storm. I could smell the soft watery air that promised rain.

“What do you want, Thusnelda?”

The question made me roll my eyes. “I want to do as you said; run down there and kill as many Romans as I can before they kill me. Maybe I could give some of them the chance to escape.”

He grunted. I couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or not and kept my attention on the dirt between my boots. 

“And then you would be dead and the Cherusci would pay for it. First, they’d be punished. There’d be the crucifixions, more would be sold into slavery, and Varus would demand even more in taxes. To make it worse, you wouldn’t be here anymore. The Cherusci need you.”

He stood and dusted himself off, then produced a water flask and cloth strip to clean the blood from his face.

“What if I told you there was another way?” he asked.

Bathed in the glow of morning sun, he could be a Roman god or statue before me, tall and strong and untethered to our mortal world.

“I don’t understand.”  
Was he tricking me somehow? It was one thing to express a desire to kill Romans - Cherusci did it every day - but another to conspire a rebellion. To even hint at organizing something, something other than an outburst brought on by insult, was a death sentence. If he wanted me to say the words, he’d have to say them first.

“Do you remember where we met yesterday?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Arminius held a hand out to me. “Be there in five days, at dawn. Stay hidden and follow us. Do not speak. Do not reveal yourself. If you do, I slap you in chains and take you Varus myself.” 

I stared at his hand, then his face, searching for treachery. Only earnest seriousness looked back at me, both pleading and unsure. Then he said, so softly I could almost believe he didn’t say it, “Please.”

I took his hand.

* * *

Jotapa said nothing when I reentered the house, though it seemed she’d been standing just on the other side of the door throughout my altercation with Arminius. 

“Everything is fine,” I said.  Jotapa ’s eyes trailed up and down my disheveled and dirty form. She clucked her tongue and sauntered back to her duties. I could explain later. Or not. At the moment, I wanted a nap. The succession of startling, stressful events throughout the morning took their toll.

In the safety of my room, I could disarm and disrobe. I longed for a warm bath, but the house only echoed its silence. Most of our  _ scalcs _ had gone to the center of the village, it seemed. 

Fortunately, I was still in my tunic and supple leggings when Levin burst in the room. I knew it was him without having to ask. Though he and Lennart were identical in all ways - looks, height, voice, even the way they hit - I could always tell them apart immediately.  Jotapa never could, even Wout and Segestes could be confused, but not me. In my eyes, they were as different as night and day, though I could never articulate the differences. Perhaps it was Levin’s more gentle spirit.

A spirit he overcame long enough to shove me back. My feet tangled over my stool and my rear hit the floor with a thump. I opened my mouth to shout my outrage, but Levin thrust out his index finger, quivering with fury.

I could let him win this, but what would that make me?

“How dare you?” I snarled, pushing to my feet. He dropped his hand and his face fell. A twinge of sisterly guilt tugged at my heart, but not enough to let this offense go.

Levin closed his eyes and the wild anger that drove him faded. “I saw you. With him.”

“You saw us fighting and did nothing?

“I came to check on you. I was coming to your aid,” he said, “then I saw you talking to him.”

My lip curled in disgust and I pushed away from him. “That’s all it took? You saw us fighting, we exchanged words, then he left. This made you barge in here and shove me?” 

Pacing seemed the only option when what I really wanted to do was scream and tear my hair out. Our lives were not easy, this I knew even before I learned how the Romans lived. But these past two weeks left me raw, bruised, and bleeding. Literally and figuratively. 

“Father forbid you from cavorting with him.” Levin shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He is a villain.”

“As far as I can tell, he is exactly what Segestes wants for all of us.”

A steady throbbing pounded in my temples. Rubbing at them did no good, but it gave me something to do with my hands. Intrigues and secrets were Roman ways, not Cherusci. 

“He’s not what he seems.” Levin spoke with such gravity, I couldn’t deny the depth of his feelings, his certainty. “If you cannot trust our father, then please trust me. Arminius is a threat to all of us.”

Levin stood by the door as somber as I’d ever seen him, imploring me to hear his words.

“I would better trust you if you would tell me the truth.” I tipped my chin at the door and Levin got the message: he’d been dismissed.

He paused in the doorframe and said, “Please, just be careful.”

I could be careful, but who was my enemy here?

* * *

I didn’t sleep, then took off to our meeting place hours earlier than necessary with nothing but my sword, cloak, a water flask, and a small sack of food. For the hundredth time, my mind insisted this was some type of trap. To what end, I couldn’t say, but a lifetime of hating anyone and anything that marched under a Roman eagle insisted Arminius must be treacherous.

My instincts whispered otherwise. The compulsion to trust him sat deep within my bones. Perhaps it was just wishfulness on my part, the natural consequence a lifetime praying to the gods for some hope against the Roman invasion.

Traveling to this spot was even slower going than I expected. The pitch dark night made all the native dangers lurking in the  _ wald  _ come to life. The animals came alive and each step I took on the mist-wet earth filled me with dread until my foot found solid ground.

I reached the spot, though, with the doggedness of an experienced hunter. Tree bark dug into my back and my leggings were soaked through from sitting on the ground. The mist seemed only more dense as the sun began its slow journey over the horizon. I tugged my cloak tighter around my shoulders. It was always so much colder as the sun rose.

Eating. I should have been eating, but my stomach was too tied in knots. Just looking at the hard roll in my bag made my nose scrunch away. Too restless to sleep, too anxious to eat, and too committed to listening for the first sound I could catch that would announce their arrival. I jerked at every breath of wind through the trees, only to collapse back against the tree in defeat.

He said dawn, but that could still be hours yet. Anything could have happened. He could have been delayed, his orders might have changed, he could have even met resistance on the road. That thought made my heart race, but I couldn’t say why it mattered to me.

The scent of horses reached me first, before the low masculine chatter followed. Just like before, I tucked myself out of sight. Between the mist and shadows filtering from the treetops, they’d have to know where to look for me to find me, and even then they might not see me. Arminius would. 

And he did. I felt the moment his eyes found mine all the way to the tips of my toes. His gaze slid away and he continued easy conversation with the other soldiers in his party. I recognized a few from the first time we crossed paths, but the optio riding alongside Arminius was all new. Of course I had seen some of these men before, the ones with skin so dark they looked to have been painted in coal or charcoal dust. He was darker than all that, a small, wiry man with a wide white smile splitting his face.

Arminius called him Berut, perhaps for my benefit. He would know of my fascination with the man just so very different from anyone native to our land. Romans brought them in from all over, lands so far I couldn’t even imagine what they must be like. They must be hot for their skin to be so scorched.

After some time trotting quietly behind their small party, I realized we were heading to Sicambri land. The men talked of nothing important, but listening to the gentle rumble of Arminius’s voice, hearing his barks of laughter, made oddly pleasant music. 

I craved the soothing nature of the music after my long night and morning. The presence of this optio, a man clearly not of the  _ alae _ , joining on something that Arminius suggested would prove himself in my eyes left me with more questions. Had he suggested such at all, or had I filled in the gaps with what I wanted to hear? There was only one way to find out. Even has my thighs and calves screamed against the effort of keeping up with men on horseback, having already traveled so many miles just to meet them. 

Through it all Arminius gave no hints of my presence. The group grew quieter the closer they got to the heart of Sugambri lands. Instead of staying on the main road - though calling it such was an affront to the Roman concept of a road - they paused at a trail, too narrow for horses. 

“What is this one’s name again?” Berut asked as they dismounted. “Duter? Tuetonius?”

“Deudorix, Chief of the Sugambri, and you will address him as such if you value your limbs.”

“Rome doesn’t call them that.”

Arminius snorted. “Of course not, but if you call them  _ Sicambri _ , this will be over before it starts.”

Behind them, the man Arminius called Ermin chuckled. He had some leadership with the Germanian auxiliary, but without the benefit of proper Roman uniforms, I couldn’t say what.

I waited until the whole of them disappeared down the trail before following. My feet stayed nimble over the branches, leaves, and brambles littering the ground. We traveled at least two miles before they stopped in a small clearing. Much like any other, soft green grass filled a gap between the towering, ancient trees. Birdsong added to the scene, light and happy. It would have been downright nice had the clearing not been filled with six soldiers and four Germanian tribesmen.

An older man, thick in the chest with a long graying beard to match his silvery braids stood front and center. His golden torque and jewels marked him as the chief. Three younger men flanked him, no doubt sons and close relatives. When Arminius approached, the man spat at his feet.

“What do you people want now?” he asked in the Sugambri tongue. Their language was close enough to follow, having been our regional neighbors since time began.

“Deudorix, I presume?” Arminius gave no indication he even saw the glob of mucus congealing in the packed dirt. Deudorix grunted a reply, so Arminius continued. “We’re here to talk.”

So this was the Sugambri chief? Strange that I hadn’t met him yet. The older man’s lip curled beneath his bushy moustache. He ran a long, slow sneer up and down Arminius as his hand fell to the hilt of his battle scarred sword.

“It’s true, then? The eldest son of my great rival is now a Roman toy? Prancing about like a little girl in a fancy dress, playing at being one of them?”

I cringed, hearing words so similar to my own spat in Arminius’s face. Is that what I sounded like?

Berut took a step forward, prepared to unsheath his own weapon before Arminius reached out a staying hand. Arminius shook his head once and Berut obediently, if reluctantly, resumed his place. 

“And where did you people find this one?” Deudorix all but shouted, inspecting Berut closely, without any of the unvarnished hostility he’d shown Arminius. “Left him cooking too long over the fire, did you?”

Berut shifted under the scrutiny and asked Arminius in Latin, “What is he saying?”

Arminius answered with a tugging to his lips, “He thinks we left you cooking too long over a fire.”

“I didn’t know they made men like you,” Deudorix said in Latin, addressing Berut directly.

My hand fell to my sword and my muscles tensed, preparing to pounce. Whose side I would defend remained elusive, but I knew the brewing of a fight when I saw one. 

“This handsome?” Berut’s face split into one of his blinding smiles. “You are right, I am one of a kind.”

Deudorix narrowed his eyes and I caught Arminius reaching for his sword, until Deudorix let out a loud laugh and clapped Berut on the shoulder. “Let’s get on with it then. Tell me, Arminius, son of Segimer, now...what do the Romans call you?” 

“I was granted the social rank of Equestrian, however I don’t have a formal rank in the legions. I am one of Varus’ personal aides.”

“So,” Deudorix tipped his head in Arminius’s direction, “tell me what business Varus’ personal aide has for me? Raising taxes again?”

Arminius’ men stilled behind him. I held my breath. This was it. This is what Arminius wanted me to see.

“No,” Arminius said. “I’ve come to ask what you want for the future of the Sugambri.”

Deudorix was aging, but his sharp warrior’s eyes missed nothing. He asked the same question I’d been asking myself for five days. “If you’ve come to ask me to incriminate myself, I’m afraid you should have started with my sons. They’re still hotheads.”

The three men with him grumbled and shifted on their feet, but dared not rebut their father.

“My friend, Optio Berut, comes from Carthage. Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard tales. You people love to crow about failed uprisings. Anything to cow us into fear, isn’t that right?”

_ You people _ . Oh yes, this is how I’d addressed him. 

“Of course that’s what they’re doing,” Arminius said. I didn’t miss the way he referred to the Romans as them, not us. “They’re terrified of what will happen when the people they’ve worked so hard to oppress organize against them. Berut, tell him about Carthage.”

“Our hero, Hannibal, lead many successful battles against the Roman invasion. For years he kept them out, but he became too bold. He determined we should conquer Italia, even Rome herself. When he was defeated, they razed our great city to the ground. We were murdered or enslaved by the thousands. The Carthage where I grew up is Roman. They wiped all traces of my people from the earth and remade us in their image. We speak Latin, worship their gods, eat their foods. Our ways have been lost for centuries.”

Deudorix sighed and folded his hands in that way all disappointed fathers could. “You tell me nothing the Romans haven’t already. Hostilities against this empire are futile and our people are doomed to become like this one,” he said, waving his hand in a leisurely circle.

“Don’t you wonder how things might have turned out for them if Hannibal hadn’t taken his war to the steps of Rome?” Arminius seized on the flicker of interest in Deudorix’s eyes. “What if, instead of attempting to conquer them, he had focused on unifying his nation, strengthening their borders, securing a dug in defensive force powerful enough to keep Rome out for good?”

My heart stopped. Every conversation we’d had clicked into place. The way he’d spoken about the Romans, how he made a point of studying them. The pain that colored his features whenever I called him one of them.

Deudorix shook his head. “It can’t be done.”

“Why?” As Arminius seized on the question, my heart followed, galloping to keep up with the very idea. Did he truly intend to join the tribes as one?

Deudorix snorted. “You know damn well why. No one will ever get the tribes to unite for even a single rebellion, let alone a prolonged war. It’s not the way of our people.”

“Our people will not have a way if we don’t do something!” Arminius ran a hand over the scruff of his jaw. “We will cease to exist if we don’t fight back, and yes, that means making some changes.”

“You mean trading one emperor for another?” Deudorix stroked his beard.

“What would you prefer?” Arminius asked. “Being swallowed whole by Rome, knowing everything you’ve ever worked for, everything you’ve ever believed, no longer exists? Or pledging fealty to a king chosen by the chiefs to protect our people. No taxes. No conscripts. Our children won’t be taken at random as slaves or bodies to fight their wars. We keep our traditions.”

The sons traded silent looks between themselves, shaking their heads but wise enough to remain silent. Deudorix hummed in thought. The birds continued chattering on, as if the most monumental thing I’d ever witnessed wasn’t happening in their midst.

“Still impossible. Even if you manage to get a few tribes to unite under this cause - and I assure you, you won’t - even this one’s great Hannibal was no match for the Roman army. Our warriors are the best in the world, but these men do not fight with honor or bravery.”

“No, they fight to win,” Ermin said, breaking his silence. “No amount of bravery or honor saved my tribe. What honor is there in condemning your tribe to servitude because you want glory in battle?” 

A sheep bleated somewhere in the distance. We were closer to at least a homestead, if not the Sicambri village proper, than I thought. All around them, Sicambri life rolled on as it had for generations, each day not unlike the last. What was said next would mark this day as special, though no one outside this clearing would ever know that. 

“Still, our armies can’t win in open warfare against these people. What makes you so special?” Deudorix swatted a hand at a fly. 

Arminius stood impossibly taller. “I know how they think, their tactics, their weaknesses.”

“Name one.”

“Without their formations, they fall apart. I know more than their tactics. They raised me as one of them. I can keep us ahead.”

Deudorix had the right of it: Germanian soldiers, for the most part, didn’t stand a chance in a fight against the might of a Roman legion, let alone three or more. Our people excelled in one-to-one combat, where warriors faced each other as individuals. Raw strength against raw strength.

Deudorix tapped his nearest son’s chest with the back of his hand, gesturing to one of their horses. The younger man hesitated, balking at being treated like a servant, but didn’t need to be told twice. “What makes you think they will not simply rain down upon us with all their legions?”

“They never have before.” Arminius did his best to be every inch the casual, confident leader, but in just a few meetings I saw his tells. Tension radiated off him in waves, his lazy grin forced. “No one has ever attempted what I’m suggesting. Not like this. Rome’s armies are too spread out; they couldn’t consolidate their forces here if they wanted to. I’m not going to tell you I have all the answers right now, because I don’t. All I know is that if we can organize, if we prepare our warriors, I can lead us to victory.”

The eldest son stepped forward, face pulled tight. “Rebellion? Father, he’s mad. He will get us all killed.”

“Perhaps.” Deudorix took a flask when his youngest returned. After taking a slow gulp, he passed it to Arminius. “However, you forget we all must die. Sicambri do not die on our knees.”

Just like that, Arminius’s grin reached his eyes. He took the flask and accepted a drink.

By all the gods above and below, he did it. He secured the loyalty of the Sicambri, and with them their nearly 3,000 warriors. A smaller tribe, they were no less renowned in battle. No wonder I’d never met this Deudorix. He harbored rebellious desires. Segestes would stay far from such a man. 

Arminius returned the flask to Deudorix. “Then I can count on your support when the time comes?”

“The Sugambri will fight.” Deudorix raised his flask in a toast.“What would you have done if I told you to  _ samantwist _ off?”

Germanians were a plainspoken people and Deudorix wouldn’t appreciate anything short of the plainspoken truth. Arminius said, “If you’d said no, you all would have lost your heads out here.”

A slow smile spread across Deudorix’s lips. Berut guffawed and the rest of the men followed. How I wanted to join, but I remained a silent, hidden witness. 

Hope stirred in my chest. They were going to launch the most ambitious rebellion in Germanian history. We were marching toward freedom and Arminius would lead us there. 

Together we would see the end of Roman rule over our people.


	6. Chapter 6

Konrada begged me for more training, anything and everything to distract her from the fact that her eldest brother had been among the men arrested. Her distraction proved too strong to engage in any sort of combat or hunting training, so we spent three days on leather—tanning hides, boiling pieces and shaping them to our will, going over the best types of waxes to seal it. I showed her how to use different tools to carve designs into our pieces.

Each task I assigned her was painfully intricate, anything to force her concentration. Today, we painted the ceremonial gauntlets we’d carved and treated yesterday. I’d made sure her designs were tight whorls interlacing in a dizzying pattern. Painting such a meticulous pattern would keep her busy until nightfall. 

My thin horsehair brush stuttered on the wolf’s head I’d carved. These gauntlets would be mine, but not until they were perfect. They would not be if I couldn’t keep my brush steady and my mind off what I’d seen in the woods. It ran wild with possibilities and plans. Arminius himself said he had no real plan yet beyond securing alliances. We would have to rectify that and soon.

A quick glance at Konrada’s work showed no such errors. She chose bright colors and her gauntlets were steadily becoming little rainbows a person could wear on their wrists and forearms. 

She didn’t look up or stall her painting when she said, “I will kill them all.”

“I believe you.” I set my brush aside. “You won’t do it alone.”

* * *

Ingomar kept a small roundhouse on the farthest outskirts of our village. Brother to Segimer, uncle to Arminius, he stayed far away in what most Cherusci believed his shame. I suspected it was grief. He grieved for his brother, who only died after kneeling to the might of Rome. He grieved his wife and the children they never had. He grieved for his nephews, lost to the invading empire. We shared much of the same sorrows.

Insects came alive in the late afternoon, when the wet heat threatened to drown us all. I swatted and waved away as many as I could, though it was a useless battle. Even the dust at my feet puffed into pitiful bursts before quickly sinking back to the ground. Already I tired of the yet-to-come summer. Fall was my season, when the forest turned to a sea of reds and golds, when _ Haustblot _ bled slowly into the _ Vetrnaetr_, winter in its truest and most reliable form. Our _ Haustblot _ celebrations felt more honest to me, at any rate. They served as a communal opportunity to celebrate our dead, of whom there were so many. Most importantly, _ Haustblot _called for no sacrifices of anything, since the dead we celebrated were considered an offering we’d already made. 

Ingomar appeared in his doorway with a friendly smile, both familial and genuinely pleased to see me. The old man didn’t suffer the benefits of regular visitors these days. He kept is peppery gray hair cropped short, close to his head, and he hadn’t allowed his beard to grow since his brother surrendered. I realized with a start that Ingomar was an older, beaten down Arminius.

I slipped into his long arms for a tight hug and let him usher me through the low wooden doorframe. Inside was the same as always - a small fire pit in the center, an ancient bench along the far wall, thick rugs covered dirt floors, and, despite not having kept horses in the past fifteen years, the soft scent of leather bridles and a hint of the animals themselves. 

“What brings my lovely niece to visit an old man on such a fine day?” Ingomar asked as he poured a cup of ale for me.

Once Arminius was taken, I implored Ingomar to stop calling me his niece, but he never listened. He smiled and nodded like a doting father, then called me “niece” the next time I saw him. It grieved me, in my childish way, to be reminded of the family I’d hoped to join now ripped from my grasp. As I grew, I came to understand that Ingomar needed a family more than I ever did. I could appreciate it for what it was: familial affection, something both of us lacked more and more with each passing year.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing.” I pushed a stray hank of hair behind my ear. “It’s been too long.”

Ingomar’s eyes danced with mirth over his cup. “No, I haven’t seen him. Our parting was…” He trailed off into a hum and took another sip. “But I hear tell you have.”

The ale in my throat threatened to choke me. I coughed it back down, all while my beloved uncle chortled away at my expense.

“Just because I don’t get many visitors doesn’t mean I don’t get any,” he said. “Rumors as delightful as this always have a way of reaching even my door.”

I spoke, choosing my words carefully for both their subject matter and my still unsure throat, “Perhaps it would benefit you both if you approached him next time he’s in the village. He’s not...well, you should speak with him.”

Wise blue eyes—so like Arminius’—crinkled at the corners and studied me. I expected an immediate rejection, maybe even shouting over the audacity to even suggest he acknowledge his seemingly wayward nephew. Instead, Ingomar watched me, friendly, not the least surprised, and a touch amused.

I drained the rest of the sweet ale only he brewed. Ingomar favored cherries in his brew, which, I’m told, had once been quite popular here. Now things associated with his family left a sour taste in Cherusci mouths. I found it delicious.

“Ah,” Ingomar rose and fetched a basket of old blankets, “would you mind taking this to the barn loft? These old hands just don’t climb a ladder as well as they used to.”

Given the strength still apparent in the old man’s muscles, I doubted this, but would not question him. 

“Of course,” I said and took the basket from his weathered hands.

After the darkness of his house, the afternoon sun was blinding. It didn’t matter; I could traverse his land confidently while blindfolded. My eyes couldn’t relax until I entered the barn, but it only took a few seconds for them to start their adjustment. The darkness inside the ancient building, with its crumbling stone walls and rotting wood structures, was soothing but I was just as blind inside as I was out. 

Finding the ladder was easy and though the fabric was heavy, it wasn’t so heavy as to slow down a man of Ingomar’s size and health. I would have to find out why he sent me out here.

As I gripped the top of the ladder to descend, I found my answer. Arminius sat on an overturned bucket, propped lazily against a side wall and chuckling to himself. I almost didn’t recognize him without his usual armor. Dressed in a simple tunic, cloak, and boots he could almost pass for just another Cherusci. Almost. My worn out tunic and leggings, covered in the dirt from the road, stains that may or may not have come from cleaning a deer, my unruly hair sticking to and fro, all popped into the forefront of my mind. I did my best to stamp the silly worries away.

I skipped the last two rungs and landed on the floor in a small burst of dust and old hay. “Are you hiding from your own uncle?”

Arminius snorted. “No. He sent me out here when we saw someone coming. He seems to think he’s quite funny.”

“He told me he hadn’t seen you.” I wiped yet more dust from my hands. 

“Until this morning, he hadn’t.”

I cast a look back to the loft and sighed. “He laughed at me the whole time he asked me to come out here.”

Neither of us spoke until we spoke at once.

“We need to talk about-”

“I wasn’t sure how to find-”

He gestured for me to continue, rubbing his hand across his chin. Arminius was much too disciplined to reveal many tells, but I mentally catalogued this, the little act of hiding his face and keeping at least one hand busy. Whenever he held himself back, the muscles in his jaw jumped and flexed. I wondered what mine were, if Arminius was busy making note of the unconscious ways I revealed myself.

His nerves stirred up my own. All thoughts I’d planned to volley at him vanished, mind blank and staring at a splinter in one of the beams supporting the loft. I stopped just shy of picking at the wood and said, “My apologies. I misjudged you.”

Not at all what I planned to say when I next saw him.

“I’m sorry I mislead you, though I’m confident you understand the need for absolute secrecy.”

“So,” I allowed myself to drift closer, “you’ll not cleave my head from my shoulders and leave my body in the woods?”

Arminius sat up straighter. “If you had come in here railing at me, screaming your intention to see me dead, I still wouldn’t harm you.”

Again he disarmed me with a few simple words. My pride howled at a perceived insult. Did he not think me capable of following through on such threats? That was an incorrect assumption, though. Nothing about him spoke of derision or condescension. He sat before me aghast at the very idea. He would protect me even if I made myself his enemy. My stomach performed a strange flip at the thought.

“Well then,” I spoke as casually as I could, “we are both fortunate. I can secure your alliance with the Chatti, of course, and my word will lend credence to yours across the region.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I hope you don’t think I told you as a means of using you.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Though it did make my stomach flip again to know he’d taken such a risk simply prove himself to me. “I would be remiss as a princess and a traitor to my people if I didn’t do everything in my power to aid you.”

Arminius stood, unfolding piece by piece. “I appreciate your support, but it’s too risky. You can’t involve yourself.”

My hackles rose, which I much preferred when dealing with the man. “You would give me orders? Listen here,” I invaded his space and jabbed my finger into an uncomfortably warm and solid chest, “I am neither one of your men or your wife. I am princess of the Cherusci and we are now in an alliance. I will not be shut out.”

An emotion I couldn’t name flitted across his features. Even in the dim light, I caught the darkening of his eyes and the slow roll of the apple in his throat. He forced a laugh and took a step back. “I expected as much, but it was worth a try. You’ll be pleased to know Varus is considering allowing the thieves we imprisoned to work off their crimes in the in _ alae _.” 

The sudden change of subject threw me. “Why would that please me? Your auxiliary are little better than slaves.”

“They’re a whole lot better off than dead on a cross!” He plonked back down on the old bucket that threatened to crumble under his weight. “I’m doing my best, Eldaberry. This only works as long as I have Varus’ trust.”

_ Eldaberry_. Until this very moment, I’d forgotten the nickname. Only Arminius had ever called me that. 

I dumped another bucket over and sat across from him. “And what is this? What is your grand scheme?”

“That’s what I came to speak with Ingomar about.”

“Are you telling me that what I heard you tell Deudorix is truly the extent of your plan?” I sputtered each word.

“No!” He slumped back against the stone wall and ran his hands over his hair. “Yes.”

I never saw him like this in public, with anyone else. He carried himself as assured to the point of arrogance, smooth, commanding. Not so with me. It was like he’d come here with the express intent of befriending me, though that couldn’t be true. He was here to save his people. Did the man have no friends?

He now had me and Ingomar on his side.

“C’mon.” I stood. “Your uncle always has good ideas. And the best ale.”

* * *

“No, no, no, the problem is you’re trying to do too much at once,” Ingomar said. 

We sat on cushions around his low circular table, doing quite a bit more laughing at increasingly ridiculous suggestions than actually hammering out anything of value.

I waved my cup at Ingomar, sloshing the liquid inside. “Don’t listen to him, Arminius. It is perfectly reasonable for one man to recruit tribes, convince them to unite for the first time ever, then convince them to fight tactically, which they will consider honorless, all while planning some sort of foolproof battle against an unstoppable army and keeping Varus’ cock sucked so he doesn’t notice. You’ll be fine.”

I erupted into giggles. Arminius’ mouth dropped open, then clamped shut. 

“Stop thinking about what you don’t have and start thinking about what you do have,” Ingomar said. “You have Germanian allies, not only us, but the Sicambri—powerful allies—and your auxiliary. You even have that African.”

“Berut.” Arminius nodded. “He’s a Carthaginian and my closest friend.”

“Berut,” Ingomar said. “A leader doesn’t handle everything himself. He uses his allies and his chieftains. He capitalizes on the different gifts of his men.”

“And women,” I spoke mostly into my cup. The drink was so sweet and pleasant and relaxing.

Ingomar gave me a fatherly pat on the shoulder. “And women. What you and this Berut have that no one else shares is your knowledge of the legions. You can have Varus in your pocket. You are the hunter, you must know your prey to set an effective trap. You’ve already started this. You knew it as a boy. So figure out your trap, let your allies help you.”

Silence descended. Ingomar was exactly the man I knew him to be and, not for the first time, I lamented his self-imposed isolation from the tribe. Arminius wasn’t the only good man we lost to Rome.

Ingomar stood and smoothed his poorly-patched tunic. I promised to send Jotapa over tomorrow to fetch his things for proper mending. 

“The hour is late and I’m sure Segestes is wondering where her daughter has been all day,” Ingomar said.

I snorted into my cup and drained it. Segestes probably hadn’t noticed. 

“I’ll walk her back.” Arminius materialized behind me, or perhaps I had overindulged. 

Oh no, he couldn’t do that. “No, you can’t do that. Absolutely not.”

But his big hand was already wrapped gently around my elbow, guiding me to my feet.

“I do know how to get from here to there without using the main road.” That damn voice of his, it reverberated through my bones and whispered for me to trust him. Perhaps that’s why I continued to do so.

Ingomar wrapped me in another hug and whispered, “Thank you, niece. We’ll be seeing much more of each other soon.”

* * *

I had to admit, I certainly wouldn’t have made my way through the trees without Arminius’ help. Admittedly, I would have stumbled my way down the main road without the need for assistance. He knew it, I knew it, but neither of us would speak it. 

Instead, we walked slowly through the night, weaving in and out of tall spruces, beeches, oaks. Even in my blurred state, I could identify each one. I recognized them better than my own flesh. 

I had to accept it: I knew Arminius in my bones. I knew him in a way my mind couldn’t comprehend or explain.

“So,” I started, knowing full well I’d said this at least three times already on our journey, “I will pave the way for you with the tribes, while you are busy concocting something positively brilliant that will stop Rome in its tracks.”

“Not just stop,” he looped an arm around my waist before I tripped over a root, “I’ll remove them entirely.”

I laughed heartily, confident we were too far from the village proper to wake anyone. 

“Of course you will.” I whirled around to face him as I walked backward, to his consternation. “You are Arminius and I believe that I believe that…”

I forgot what I was talking about. My heel caught on something, but I didn’t have very far to fall with Arminius so close. Close and solid and just where he needed to be when he needed to be there.

“You smell nice.” I leaned forward to breathe him in and confirm what I already knew: he smelled nice. 

His shoulders shook with laughter under my hands. “I will keep your secret, since you are keeping mine.”

“What secret?” The earth shifted and rolled beneath my feet, not unlike how I felt after a solid knock to the head, but far more pleasant.

“You,” he tapped me on the nose, “enjoy the scent of a Roman-bathed man.”

I recoiled, but not far as those arms only tightened. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Keep your secret? Of course I would. This is information I will hold tightly to.”

His thumbs made slow circles against my lower back, more intoxicating than any ale.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” I flattened a palm against his chest, “I am happy with my betrothal to Reimar, and it is that betrothal that guarantees you support from the only tribe second to ours in strength and respect.”

He didn’t stop those maddening circles. He only shrugged, cast in shadowed moonlight filtered through the treetops. “Are you? I was at the same dinner you were. Reimar will join my rebellion with or without you as his wife. I think I prefer without.”

At that I did wind my way away from him. “You forget your own people if you think Reimar will take such a slight and still support you, no matter his feelings toward the invaders. Besides, Reimar will make me queen of the Chatti.”

Arminius stood straighter. It was a subtle motion, as he was already standing, but he did it. A straightening of the spine, a lift of the chin, a glint of his trademark arrogance.

“I would make you queen of Germania.”

* * *

“Thusnelda, are you listening to me?” Konrada prodded me in the ribs with one of her tiny fingers. “Are you even paying attention?”

Arminius and his strange cohort of Germanian auxiliary troops and Optio Berut were back in the village in full regalia, playing a ball and stick game with children. I’d never seen such a thing from proper legionary troops, nor had anyone else. Half the village gathered around the main square. Some watched with caution, others with delight. Berut took special joy in the play, allowing the children to change the game at their whim so long as they were winning. Arminius knew the game, but slowed his gait and minded his strength with them. He continued to surprise me. 

“That optio is a fine man to watch.” Jotapa used a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and get a better look at Berut. “I’ve never seen such a man.”

I focused long enough to catch Jotapa licking her lips like a starving woman to a feast featuring the small Carthaginian as the main course. I would have teased her, but Konrada saw it, too.

“How dare you, you filthy little _ scalc _! These men have imprisoned my brother and enslaved him to their legion.”

She raised her hand to strike Jotapa, but I caught her in a punishing grip of my own, so strong Konrada cried out.

“And how dare you!” I hissed, already afraid Konrada had made a spectacle of herself. “Jotapa is a _ scalc _ by my father’s will, not mine. She is my friend and you will treat her as such. Until she frees herself, you would do well to think before striking out at a member of the chief’s house, _ scalc _ or otherwise.” 

Konrada cradled her wrist against her chest when I released her, eyes cast downward. “I am sorry, Princess.”

My anger left as quickly as it arrived. “I know you’re angry. I understand it, but it is not me to whom you owe an apology.”

“It’s nothing.” Jotapa shook her dark head. The hairs closest to her scalp and neck stuck to the sweat on her skin. “They took her brother.”

I ushered them away with a backward glance to Arminius. Donar himself was staring back at me, intense and powerful as any god. His promise hung in the air between us, even at a distance:_ I would make you queen of Germania_. 

It took willpower, but I tore myself away and followed the others back to the longhouse, then led them to my bedroom. We might find some privacy there. 

Konrada held herself at the closed door, a little wide eyed and unsure. She hadn’t been invited to my private quarters before. I sat myself on the bed and Jotapa took her usual seat on my stool.

“Konrada,” I said, “you have to understand how much better it is for your brother to be conscripted into the _ alae _ than the other options Varus might have chosen.”

“But-”

I raised my hand to stop her. “No. Without Arminius’ intervention, they would have been crucified under Roman law. Varus could have even chosen enslavement and these men would be lost to us all forever. He will remain nearby until he completes his terms with them.”

Konrada didn’t reply, but her posture fell.

I studied the two faces around me. I knew these women as sisters and trusted them even more. My brothers could not be so trustworthy.

“For your own safety, I cannot share everything I know.” The words tasted like sawdust on my tongue. “But Konrada, please trust me when I say all is not lost.”

She nodded once and swallowed. What I had to say next would be even worse.

“I ask only that you trust me, keep your head down. When the time is right, I swear I will tell you all. You are on your way to becoming a fine warrior. For now, please leave us to talk.”

Konrada sucked in a shallow breath through her nose and her cheeks went pink. To her credit, she didn’t argue. Once the door shut behind her, I turned my full attention to Jotapa.

“Tomorrow I will ride to the Chatti to visit Reimar. Will you join me?”

Expecting something far more dramatic than a day’s ride to visit my betrothed, Jotapa blinked. “Of course.”

“And I assume I can trust that anything you witness or hear will stay between us?”

Jotapa rose and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Whatever it is, you can trust me. Besides, it would be scandalous for you to make such a trip alone, even if you are betrothed.”

She didn’t know the half of it.

“Thank you. Do you mind if I have some time to myself for the afternoon?”

“Anything you need,” she said. “I’ll prepare provisions for our journey.”

The door scarcely shut behind her when Arminius cleared his throat at my window. That I knew him by a single forced cough was just too much.

Without turning around, I said, “Levin saw us the other day, when we fought by the backdoor. You know you can’t be here.”

“Do you trust her?”

I turned. The bastard had pushed my thick woven tapestry aside and finagled those outsized shoulders of his—armor and all—through the window. He was practically standing inside my bedroom!

“Of course! Now go.” I crossed the floor to pull the tapestry back over the window, but he made no effort to move.

“Perhaps it would be safer all around if you just invited me in.” He pursed his lips, miming his way through a facade of deep thought.

Hitting him and laughing at the ridiculous creature were both options, though I couldn’t choose which.

“Segestes and Wout will put me out if you’re seen.”

He had to bend at the waist to keep himself in the window, putting him beneath me for once. 

“That’s fine. I’ll take you as my wife and you can live with Ingomar under my protection until we get this mess sorted out.”

There it was again, the suggestion he’d been making since our less than fortuitous reunion. At first it was easy to dismiss as a ribald joke, but after the other night...My skin prickled at the idea. Over the course of many made and broken betrothals over the years, the only thing I’d felt for any of them was revulsion. Not the case when the words slipped so easily off Arminius’ tongue. 

I could see it clearly, the two of us riding as one at the head of an army. More than that, I believed I would enjoy such a union. We suited each other, when we weren’t at each other’s throats.

“You have to stop talking that way,” I said.

“Why?”

Light reflected off the growing whiskers on his chin. As fine as chin as I’d ever seen.

“It’s dangerous.”

He shifted to rest his weight on both forearms, those were fine, too. “Most things worth having are.”

My heart hammered in my chest. Somehow this suggestion was more unthinkable to me than all out rebellion, but it was. It felt like my body was too small to handle these feelings, my mind too ill-equipped to process the idea. I made to push him out the window, but he captured my hand in his own and tugged me closer. My mind screamed for me to resist, but my limbs ignored the message.

“I didn’t come back here for this,” he said. “But now that I’m here, everything I’ve ever wanted is within reach, and all I can think about is you.”

My breath caught, then he let his nose graze along my cheek. His whiskers grazed the soft skin there and the strange sensation made me shudder. He could ruin me. I had only to walk away, but my body leaned into his. 

I was no stranger to kissing, but wanting to be kissed was something new. A simple turn of my cheek and we would cross a line that, in the moment, felt no less revolutionary than his rebellion. Relentless quaking shook me to my core, threatening to burst from my skin if _ something _ didn’t happen. 

As one, we turned into each other and our lips met.

In that stolen moment, I was no longer the daughter of Segestes. I was betrothed to none but Arminius. For good or ill, our fates were fused. 

Whatever happened, whatever the coming war brought, we would face it together.

I never felt more powerful.


End file.
